


Maybe It's Just Me

by bleedtoloveher



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 83,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedtoloveher/pseuds/bleedtoloveher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am 16 years old. I live in District 12. My best friend has just won the 74th Annual Hunger Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I shift nervously in my spot outside of the train station. Shuffling my weight from one foot to the other surely makes me look like a mad woman. Or perhaps it just gives off the indication that I need to use the restroom. That realization instantly stills my movements, and I continue to wait in tense silence.

I peer down beside me at my little sister, Prim. Her hand is gripping mine tightly and her feet are doing the same dance mine had been only seconds before. Her blonde braids, so much different than my singular, dark one, falls in front of her shoulders and she's twisting the end of one with her free hand.

Our mother stands behind us, one hand on each of our shoulders. Her hair, the same pale blonde as my sister's, is pulled back from her face in a low bun, and she has on one of her favorite dresses. She's really made an effort with her appearance; this was the most put together I've seen her since he'd left.

It's easy for me to forget just how important the event that's about to take place is for anyone but myself. I constantly neglect the fact that, over the last few years, he has become an unofficial part of our little family. He is a surrogate son to my mother and an older brother to Prim.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am 16 years old. I live in District 12. My best friend has just won the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

Peeta Mellark is coming home today.

*****

The atmosphere of the crowd at the station is almost too much for me to comprehend. There are cameras everywhere, some even trained on my family, in order to capture ever second of his arrival on tape. Everyone is filled with excitement as well as a want to congratulate and thank him.

Peeta has always been well loved here in District 12, so having him make it home to us is reason enough to celebrate. The gifts our region will be showered with are merely an added bonus; a bonus that I had forgotten about completely until the supply train had arrived in town yesterday.

His own family is standing only a few yards away from us. His father and brothers are huddled together closely, heads bent in quiet conversation. I know that they are over the moon that he's returning home. When I stopped by the bakery this morning, ignoring the 'CLOSED' sign on the door, Mr. Mellark had hugged me tightly with tears in his eyes and told me so himself.

Mrs. Mellark stands with a few feet distancing her from the rest of the family. She has always been a cold woman, but her actions today are really setting me on edge. She barely looks up as we all hear the whistle of the train in the distance, and goes back to examining her nails.

It feels as if we've been standing here all day. As the train finally comes into the station, I have to physically restrain Prim from pushing to the front of the crowd. We talked this morning about how it would be important to let Peeta's family be the first to greet him. The look of embarrassment on her face shows me that she's just remembering that conversation herself.

"It's okay, Little Duck," I squeeze her hand gently. "We'll get to see him soon enough."

Prim nods up at me, and I face forward once again.

Peeta has been gone a little over a month, but it's felt like a year to me. I think back to the last time that I saw him; in person, not broadcast nation-wide on television.

*****

My family and I had waited at the end of his line of many visitors in the justice building. I had watched as the teary faces of his family members and friends passed by us when their allotted time was up. Even Gale, whom Peeta had built a rather precarious friendship with, had seemed emotionally distraught upon exiting.

I could have visited Peeta alone, waited until my mother and Prim had said their goodbyes, and then gone in. I couldn't find it in me to face him by myself, though. I had known that without my little sister there to put on a brave face for, the tears that had been collecting in my eyes since his name had been called at the reaping would surely fall.

More crying was the last thing that Peeta needed that day.

When we finally entered the room to say our goodbyes, I was shaken by the look of relief on his face. He had immediately jumped to envelope my mother in a hug, and moved on to Prim directly after. When she had finally let go of his waist, he stepped over to me. He had wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. The sound of his breath hitching as he laid his head down on my shoulder almost caused me to lose it.

"I almost thought you weren't going to come."

His whispered words caused a knot to form in my throat, and I swallowed hard to try and make it go away.

"Well, then you're a dummy."

A smile spread across his face then and, however pained it was, I was glad to have been the one to put it there.

We sat there for the next few minutes, Prim and my mother quizzing Peeta the best that they could on different healing plants and ways to take care of himself while in the arena. The space between his eyebrows was knitted in concentration, but I couldn't be sure if he was able to take in their last minute lessons, or not. Soon, too soon, the Peacekeepers came to the door to let us know that our time was up. Mother and Prim hugged Peeta one last time.

As I stood before him, the Peacekeeper behind me ready to escort me away, I reached into the pocket of my skirt. When I pulled out the mockingjay pin that had belonged to my father, a look of shock crossed his face. I took his hand and laid it flat in his palm, closing his fingers over the top of it.

"You're allowed to wear a token in the arena. Something from home." My voice broke on the last word, but I kept going in order to get it all out. "Will you wear this?"

"Katniss, I…" Peeta's eyes darted from the pin in his hand, back up to my eyes. "I can't… I know how much this pin means to you."

I felt the Peacekeepers hand on my elbow, but darted forward before he could fully pull me away to place a quick kiss on Peeta's cheek. My eyes filled with tears as I was jerked back quickly, and I blinked them away so I could see him clearly one last time.

"Then you'll have to bring it back to me."

*****

The sound the train coming to a stop pulls me away from my thoughts. I glance around at the crowd one last time. The video cameras have already started to roll, despite the fact that the doors of the train car have yet to open. Peeta's family has been ushered to the front of the platform, his brothers elbowing each other to get into the foremost position.

A few yards away from the Mellarks, I spot the Cartwrights. A swell of grief rushes over me as I think of their daughter, Delly, who had been the girl tribute for our district this year. According to Peeta, the two of them had played together as children. They hadn't remained terribly close over the years, but they had still been friends at the time of the reaping. Unlike members of some of the other well off families in District 12, Delly had always greeted everyone with a smile.

I hadn't really known her, but that didn't stop me from emptying the majority of my game bag on her family's back steps the morning after she died during the battle at the cornucopia.

The sounds of the door to the train car opening cause me to unconsciously take a step forward with one foot. I stop when I see that the first person to disembark is Effie Trinket. My stomach rolls in anger as I think back to the way she had sounded when she read Peeta's name off the slip she'd selected from the reaping bowl. Deep down, I know that it's not her fault; the games, or the fact that Peeta's name was chosen, but I can't help but partially blame her. It's easier to blame Effie, with her stupid pink wig, audacious clothing, and ridiculous Capitol accent.

Even now, as she's making some speech to the people gathered around, all I can think of is how much I wish that she would just shut up.

I've missed most of what she has been saying, but the last sentence stands out from the rest.

"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for! District 12, I present to you your 74th annual Hunger Games victor, Peeta Mellark!"

As Peeta comes into view, stepping out on the platform, my heart leaps into my throat. He's thinner than he was when he left, has dark circles underneath his eyes from obvious lack of sleep, and is still unsteady on the new leg that the Capitol has given him. He looks different, changed. Still, up until a few nights ago, I was unsure of whether or not I'd ever see him again. I will gladly take this modified Peeta in front of me over the alternative of no Peeta at all.

When the sounds of merriment from the crowd hit his ears, a grin stretches from one side of his face to the other. I'm happy to see that his smile has not changed.

Only seconds later, he is nearly tackled to the ground by his brothers. I can hear my mother laugh softly from behind me at the scene, and feel her fingers clutch my shoulder. I see the dismay on Effie Trinket's face as they ruffle his carefully combed hair.

After Chord and Leif finish welcoming their little brother home in their own, special way, Mrs. Mellark steps forward. Although she has always let it be known that she'd wished for a daughter while pregnant with him, and never treated him with quite the same love as his brothers, she manages to look happy at his homecoming. She does not hug her son, but touches the side of his face instead. She then carefully combs his hair back into place with her fingers, and moves aside.

Mr. Mellark is the last of his family to greet him. He has always been such a kind man, and my heart is consumed with joy as I see him embrace Peeta tightly.

My eyes fill with tears again when I remember the morning after Peeta had been announced winner. Gale and I had made our usual rounds after our hunt, and stopped at the bakery to drop off a few of the squirrels that Peeta's father was so fond of. As we completed our trade, Mr. Mellark had grabbed my hand tightly in between both of his and looked at me with moist eyes.

"He's coming home, Katniss," he said in a watery voice.

I watch as their heartfelt reunion comes to a close. The fact that Prim has let go of my hand finally registers as I see her blonde hair pushing through the crowd. Once she reaches her destination, I see her latch herself around Peeta's waist. He picks her up from the ground and swings her into the air the best that he can with his new leg. When I see him give my mother a firm hug, I realize that I've been frozen in place the entire time.

Once they break apart, Peeta stills and turns his face in my direction. I'm vaguely aware of the cameras that are flashing around me, and the fact that the people in the crowd are quickly moving to form an open pathway between us. It's not until my feet are moving at an alarming rate that I bring a hand to face and realize it's covered in tears.

Suddenly, my arms are around Peeta's neck and his are encircling my waist tightly. After a few moments, he tries to pull back, but I won't allow it. I keep my face buried deep in the crook of his neck, trying to will my breathing to go back to normal. When we finally pull apart, just enough to look at each other's faces, Peeta smiles and I cannot help but mirror his expression. He rests his forehead on mine, and wipes away the few remaining tears from under my eyes.

Before I can stop myself, I say the first words that pop into my mind.

"I almost thought that you weren't going to come home."

Peeta's mouth pulls up on one side, and he moves back, bringing his hands to my shoulders.

"Well, then you're a dummy."

A real laugh escapes my lips for the first time in over a month.

Before anything else can be done or said, Haymitch, the nasty, old drunk that calls himself a mentor, grabs Peeta by one hand and me by the other. He yells something to the crowd and then to the cameramen about the photo-ops being over, and begins to pull us toward the cars that will take Peeta to his new home in the Victor's Village.

Once we are far we enough away from the crowds, Haymitch stops and turns to face us. A look of frustration is evident on his face as he runs a hand through his greasy blonde hair. He then leans forward, speaking in a low hiss.

"Good job, Sweetheart. You just signed your own death warrant."


	2. Chapter 2

This is the first time that I've ever been inside of a car. If the sentence that Haymitch had growled at me wasn't still rattling around in my head, I might be paying more attention. Instead, I'm staring at my lap, hands clasped together atop my thighs, unable to do much of anything.

I'm sandwiched in the middle, Peeta on one side and Haymitch on the other. The threat of his words, along with the stench of the white liquor everyone in District 12 knows he's so fond of, causes me to subconsciously shift closer to Peeta. His hand makes its way into my view, and closes over one of my own. I look up at him and I'm unable to recognize the look I see in his eyes.

I'm finally opening my mouth to speak when Haymitch leans over and whispers harshly.

"No questions now, girlie." He leans back into his seat once again.

He continues to mutter to himself, and I swear it sounds like he says, 'thought the boy said you were smarter than this'.

I turned back to Peeta, and I'm sure that worry is showing clearly on my face. He squeezes my hand in what I assume should be a reassuring manner, but it doesn't work. Nothing can calm the uneasiness that I feel upon realizing that Peeta's face, usually an open book to me, is unreadable.

I try to pinpoint an exact point during the games that I could no longer see Peeta's face and immediately know what he was feeling. I come up with nothing. He had remained true to himself until the very end, just as I knew he would.

Maybe that's why my inability to read him now scares me.

The car rolling to a gradual stop makes me tense up. It's not only a sensation that I am unused to, but the dread that is creeping up on me as I spot even more cameramen waiting outside makes the situation even worse.

Before the driver can reach his door to open it, Haymitch turns back to us, one finger pointed at Peeta.

"You. Do not let go of her. Not for one second."

Peeta nods and I'm horrified at being talked about as if I'm not even here. I look at him once more, but he doesn't meet my gaze.

Suddenly, Haymitch's door is pulled open and he climbs out in front of me. I feel Peeta's hand touch my shoulder and urge me forward, so I follow the older man's lead. As soon as I stand up, Peeta is behind me. As we begin to walk, following Haymitch up the stone pathway that leads to Peeta's new house, he wraps one hand around my waist, pulling me tightly to his side. I normally shirk away from such actions, but the flashes are so bright, and the reporters so loud, that I almost welcome it.

We climb the steps of his house quickly and, as we enter, Haymitch more or less slams the heavy oak door behind us. He quickly works to close all of the drapes in the room, and turns back toward Peeta and me. I feel Peeta's hand fall away from my waist, and look over just in time to see him slide to the floor. His hands are covering his face, and I can see from where I stand that they're shaking.

I momentarily forget everything else as I fall to my knees beside him. If watching him compete in the Hunger Games on television taught me anything, it's that seeing Peeta Mellark in pain is my undoing.

When Cato, the tribute from District 2, had inflicted the wound that eventually lead to the amputation of his leg, I completely lost it. I had not only broken the cup that had held my mint tea, but I was completely unphased by the blood that had run down my arms. I'd sat there while my mother and Prim bandaged my hands, silent as a stone. I didn't sleep that night, or the next.

So seeing Peeta in pain right in front of me, where I can actually do something, is more of a relief than I would like to admit. I place my hands on his elbows, and can feel the tremors in his muscles start to subside. He slowly uncovers his eyes, and slides his hands into mine. My chest tightens when I see the unshed tears in his eyes, but I'm at a complete loss for what to say.

"Katniss," his voice is thick and he has to swallow hard before he can continue. "I am so, so sorry."

"Peeta, I don't understand." My voice is barely above a whisper.

"I don't know where to star—," he begins, but stops as quickly as he began.

I hear the legs of a chair scrape across the polished hardwood floors and remember that we're not alone. I close my eyes at the sound of the wheezing cough that comes from behind me.

"Hold it, boy. You know they're probably listening." His voice is just loud enough for us to hear him.

I can feel my stomach drop as the meaning behind his words becomes clear to me. They're probably listening. It' doesn't take me long to understand that 'they' are the Capitol. The idea that they have hidden recording devices throughout Peeta's new home takes a little longer for me to work out. Technology in District 12 has always been very basic, and very limited. Were we to have to seek out these hidden devices for some reason, I wouldn't even know where to begin.

Haymitch brings his voice back to a normal volume.

"Your family should be here soon, boy. Why don't you take a look around the place?"

Peeta nods his head in understanding, and I mimic his actions. Truthfully, I'm too scared to do anything else. As we exit the room and head toward the staircase, I look over at Peeta. The message in my eyes is clear.

'What's going on?'

He merely shakes his head, and quietly mutters, "Later."

As we ascend the steps to the second floor, I look back once more at Haymitch. He's watching us closely and I suppress a shudder. I try to comprehend Peeta's seemingly blind faith in this old drunk. I can't fully understand it, but he did manage to get him out of the arena alive. I decide then that if my best friend is placing his trust in this man, then I'll have to do the same.

We reach the top of the stairs and are faced with a hallway that houses doors to more rooms than my house and Peeta's family's house at the bakery combined. Each door stands open, allowing us to see that there are a total of five bedrooms and two bathrooms. I'm about to ask how he'll choose which bedroom will become his when he enters the room that's the farthest from the stairs. He immediately sinks down on the bed.

I stand silently, unsure of myself, in the doorway watching him. In the dim light, the dark circles under his eyes are not as noticeable, but his posture shows nothing but exhaustion and defeat. He notices that I haven't followed him and scoots toward the center of the bed, patting the empty spot next to him. I sit, folding my legs up underneath my body. It hits me that these are the exact same positions the two of us had spent in my bedroom, only an hour before his name had been pulled at the Reaping.

"I've missed you so much," I blurt out as I quickly look away from his face. For a person who always has her emotions in check, today has been a far cry from normal for me.

"You have no idea how much I missed you."

Peeta sits up as he speaks, and is attempting to sit Indian-style beside me before he seems to remember how unfamiliar he still is with his new limb. The pant leg that covers the prosthetic has risen up slightly and I can see a few inches of the metal that makes up his new leg.

"Does it hurt?" The words are out of my mouth before I think better of them. Luckily, Peeta is used to fact that I often speak without thinking, and simply answers my question.

"Only when I move." The look on my face must surprise him because he quickly adds more. "Really though, they fixed me up pretty good at the Capitol. Still getting used to it is all. Just don't ask to see it anytime soon. I know how you are with that sort of thing."

He smiles while teasing me, and for a moment he is the same Peeta that used to rib me about the way I practically run from my house whenever my mother has a patient that's truly injured. I'm incapable of stopping my arms as they reach out for him. I wrap them tightly around his body and swear I can feel his heart beating against my chest.

"Thank you," he whispers into my hair. When I pull back to look him in the eye, he clarifies. "For not treating me any different than before. I was… I was scared I would come back and no one would be able to look me in the eye… After the things that I did..."

"You're still my best friend," I start, holding his shoulders at arm's-length. "You're still the same Peeta."

"No, Katniss," he breaks eye contact and his face becomes crestfallen. "I don't think that I am."

It has never been a secret that I'm not a fan of the Capitol, or our government in general. I may not be as passionate and outspoken about it as Gale, or some others, but nonetheless I can't help but resent them.

I resent them for what they put the people of Panem through every year with the Hunger Games. I resent them for what they put us through every day with the constant threat of starvation and poverty we live in. This, however; the fact that they can take someone like Peeta, and make him speak about himself like he's some kind of monster… This causes my resentment to instantly morph into something more; pure, unadulterated loathing for the Capitol fills my body.

Peeta Mellark is the most inherently good person that I know. At times, I'm convinced that he might be the only truly good person that exists.

The haunted look that I can now see in his clear blue eyes leads me to believe that he wouldn't agree with me.

The sounds of his brothers downstairs rip us from this moment, and I move off the bed. He places his hand out in front of him and I don't hesitate to help him up. He stumbles a little, but I stand firmly and place a hand on his chest to steady him. He covers my palm with his own, squeezes it gently, and I know this gesture serves as another 'thank you'.

We make our way back downstairs and find that his entire family is now seated around the living room, glued to the television set in front of them. Chord and Leif are taking up the entire sofa, regardless of the fact that it is three times as large as the one in Peeta's old home. Mrs. Mellark is perched on the edge of a large, brown leather seat that seems to act as a rocking chair. Her husband stands behind it, hands firm on the back to ensure that the swaying motion doesn't occur while his wife is seated.

Haymitch's face is trained on the screen that he stands just to the left of. He growls in frustration as footage from Peeta's arrival at the train station from less than an hour ago begins to play. His hands ball into fists at his side, and his scowl deepens as they skip right over the speech that Effie gave, as well as the reunion between Peeta and his family members.

All of the blood drains from my face when I see what's taking place on the screen.

I almost fail to recognize myself, but there I am. I'm amazed at the amount of tears that are pouring down my face as Peeta cuts through the crowd to get to me, and my face becomes hot when I see how I run to meet him half-way. Shots of both of our faces as we stand, wrapped in others arms, show that are eyes are shut tight, more tears coming from mine.

The way that they have edited the footage gives the impression of much more than just friendship between us. First the back of my head is shown, and then the back of Peeta's. The scene then cuts to a shot of our foreheads pressed together. I had not realized the lack of space between us until seeing it now.

The clip ends and a Capitol news reporter fills the screen instead. Her blue bob swings around her chin as she speaks animatedly.

"Well, looks like all of you that fell in love with Peeta Mellark during this year's Hunger Games are out of luck! It certainly seems like this fortunate young lady has beaten us all to the punch."

Haymitch turns the television off furiously, and stalks off in a direction we haven't explored yet. The irritated huff of Mrs. Mellark grabs my attention, and I turn to face her. Regardless of the reporter's false words, she has never liked me and even the hearing someone say these things sets her on edge.

"You know it's not tr-," I start, but Peeta stops me mid-syllable, grabbing my elbow.

His eyes are pleading with me to remember Haymitch's words from earlier. Almost as if thinking his name is a means of summons, a shattering noise from what I assume is the kitchen rings through the air. The sounds of scraping chair legs are followed by his heavy footsteps making their way back to the living room.

"You know, if you don't want this fancy schmancy dinner that the Capitol has set up for you guys to go to waste, you should get in here."

Chord and Leif are off the couch and half way to the kitchen before I can blink. Mr. and Mrs. Mellark follow behind them at a more appropriate pace. The look on Peeta's face tells me that the last thing he wants is yet another thing provided for him by the Capitol. Nevertheless, he waves his hand out in front of his body, indicating that I should follow.

*****

It's after dark by the time that Peeta's family has returned to their home in town and the cameramen and reporters have vacated his front yard. Only Haymitch, Peeta, and I remain. We stand at the large window in the living room, watching the taillights of the last car fade into the distance.

Haymitch is the first to speak.

"We should get you home, sweetheart."

I cannot agree more. As wonderful as it is to have Peeta here with me, after a month of being unsure whether I would ever see him again, this house that's been provided for him gives me nothing but an uneasy feeling. We are barely out of his front yard before I spin on my heel to face the two men behind me.

"Alright, spill it. What the hell is happening?" I spit out the words toward Haymitch and watch as a sickening smile spreads across his face. He looks at Peeta briefly, and then nudges him in the side. His sobriety has greatly lessened since dinner, causing his balance to be off.

"This. Now this is more like the girl you described!"

His tone is far too light and jovial for my liking. Acting before thinking, I shove him harshly against a tree positioned behind him. My finger is pointing into his chest, and I struggle to keep my breathing normal. I'm not surprised when I feel Peeta pulling me back and away from the drunkard. He's always been the one to keep me out of trouble, and a flood of guilt that he has to do it now, the very day he's returned home, washes over me. I back off immediately.

"You tell her, boy. I get the feeling she doesn't like me too much."

I snort at the understatement, but say nothing. Instead, I turn to face Peeta, but he's refusing to meet my eyes again. Recognizing that he needs a second to sort out whatever it is he's about to say, I continue to remain silent.

"Katniss, the Capitol…. Well, they're not very happy with me."

He moves to lean against the tree that I pushed Haymitch into only seconds before. He takes a deep breath and I notice that his hands have started to shake once again.

I think back to when we were only 13, and he had to tell me that his mother wouldn't allow him to make a cake for Prim's birthday. It had taken him almost a half an hour to get to the point, and he'd been so afraid that I would be mad at him. He's still the same Peeta that he was that day; the one that can't give bad news. I turn back to the old lush.

"Just tell me."

A display of understanding and what I think may even be respect crosses his weathered face. This leads me to believe that Haymitch has gotten to know Peeta better than I'd thought during their time together. He clears his throat and speaks; his voice low and menacing.

"I don't know if you realized this, or not, sweetheart, but Peeta here is the first person to ever win the Hunger Games without actually killing anyone. The Capitol doesn't want anyone to win the way that he did. They want to turn you into a gross, monstrous, distorted version of yourself. It's more fun for them to watch. It sends the message that they own you, and that you'll never be more than just a piece in their games."

He pauses and I look over at Peeta. He's staring at my face, waiting for my reaction to his mentor's words. All I can think of is the conversation we had upstairs earlier. This is why I had been confused at his reference to the 'things that he had done'. Peeta had done nothing to compromise himself during the entirety of the games.

At the battle of the Cornucopia, he had somehow made it through without even having to take a swing at another competitor. When the career tributes had sent him back to finish off the foolish girl who had started the campfire that first night, Peeta had brushed her hair off her forehead and apologized to her over and over until she took her final breath. When it had come down to only Peeta, Cato, and Rue, the small girl tribute from District 11, he hadn't even taken revenge on the boy for the near fatal injury he had inflicted on him.

"The stunt with those berries didn't help much, either."

My mind transports me back to raggedy, worn couch in my living room, only a few nights ago. Sandwiched in between my mother and Gale, with Prim safely on my lap, I had watched as the mutts savagely tore Cato apart. Peeta and Rue were forced to listen to his pained cries from their spot atop the cornucopia. He had clasped his hands over her young ears to shield her from the worst of it.

I can't say that I was surprised when Peeta had allied with the girl from District 11. Not only had she saved his life after finding him caked in mud on the creek bank, but I knew he had seen the same thing in her that I had noticed during her initial interview; Prim.

The people of the Capitol must have loved them and the big brother/little sister relationship that they had. I can only guess that it was because of them that the first rule change in Hunger Game history was announced. This year, there could be two victors; the last remaining boy and girl tribute would return home victorious.

Of course, everyone should have known that it would be a lie.

After the cannon sounded, signifying Cato's death, my heart had leapt into my throat and I'd nearly bounced Prim right off my lap in excitement. Then there was the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith that immediately extinguished that feeling.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the 74thHunger Games. The earlier revisions have been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

I realize that my dread couldn't begin to compare with what the two people left in the arena were feeling, but the bile that rose in my throat was almost unbearable. I couldn't stop the cry that came from my mouth as I saw Peeta reach down to rip off the tourniquet on his leg.

After Rue had stopped him, the whole nation watched as they had walked down to the lake together. They sat in a companionable silence for so long that I was sure the gamemakers would be forced to unleash some other horror on them for entertainment's sake. They spoke in hushed voices, and when Peeta stood, his back to Rue's, and reached into his pocket, I knew what he was about to do.

The Nightlock berries in their outstretched hands sent a clear message to anyone watching.

It's both of us, or neither.

I heard Peeta count to three, and could hear my blood rushing in my ears. As soon as their lips closed around the berries, I was sure that my heart was about to stop along with Peeta's. Once again, the voice of Claudius Templesmith rang out franticly, but this time his words didn't incite horror.

"Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the 74th Hunger Games, Peeta Mellark and Rue Matisse! I give you the tributes of Districts 12 and 11!"

They each spit the berries out of their mouths and onto the ground in front of them, but I could see it then. Rue had obviously swallowed maybe not an entire berry, but enough of the juices. Just as the hovercraft lowered to retrieve the victors, her face lost all of its color, and she fell to the ground, limp.

The camera never showed Peeta's reaction. Immediately, the Capitol seal appeared on screen. It wasn't until the next morning that the same blue-haired reporter from this afternoon informed everyone that Rue had not survived the Nightlock berries' poison, making Peeta the sole victor.

I blink slowly, bringing everything in front of me back into focus. I still feel as if the magnitude of Peeta's actions, and where I come into play in all of this, is eluding me.

"Explain to me what this means," I say slowly, not even blinking as I look Haymitch in the eye.

"Peeta made fools of the gamemakers, thus making a fool of the Capitol." He answers me just as slowly. He swallows hard, and looks down at his feet before he continues. "I made the same mistake with the way that I won my games. Two weeks after I was crowned victor, everyone that they knew I cared about - my girl, my little brother, and my mom were all dead."

I feel a chill run down my body at his words. Though I've watched him stumble drunkenly around the stage outside the justice building on Reaping Day year after year, I have never given much thought to the man in front of me. I certainly didn't know what he had just revealed, but now that I do I suppose I can understand his drive to drink a little more.

"Not only has Peeta made them look like fools, but President Snow is under the impression that it was intentional."

"But, there's no-," I start to protest the very idea that Peeta is capable of such a thing when Haymitch silences me.

"There's no talking his way out of this, sweetheart. For either of you."

I'm still confused and anxious. My face must show it because Peeta has moved to stand beside me, and I can hear him whispering an apology over and over. I can't respond, and am just barely aware of his hands loosely gripping mine.

"What Haymitch is trying to say-," Peeta begins, but Haymitch cuts him off.

"What I'm trying to say is that with that teary reunion you provided the camera crews with, you painted a big red X over your face."

Frustration takes over and I widen my eyes and throw my hands out into the air at my sides. I am aware that I did something wrong; something stupid. I wish that he would just explain it to me instead of dragging out the process.

"Think about it, girlie. The interviews."

The scene that I watched on my television set at home replays in my mind.

It was the night they televised the interviews with all 24 tributes, before the games began. I normally watched that portion of the pre-games broadcast with little to no interest, but it suddenly felt very important to memorize the faces of Peeta's competitors.

Before I knew it, he was seated there beside Caesar Flickerman, looking more grown up than I'd ever seen him. The black suit was cut to fit only him, and the trim was blood red. I was so caught up in his appearance that I almost missed when the questions began.

Caesar asked him if he has a girlfriend back home.

Peeta hesitated, and then gave an unconvincing shake of his head.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"

Peeta sighed, and I leaned farther forward in my seat.

"Well, there is this one girl. I don't know if I would say that she's waiting for me, but she did tell me that I have to come back. But yeah, she's very special to me."

"Not a girlfriend, though?" Caesar questioned.

A sort sad smile crossed Peeta's face then, and he answered, "No."

There were sounds of sympathy from the crowd in the audience. Unrequited love they could relate to. I was surprised that Peeta had decided to go that route in his interview, but I had to admit twisting the truth just a little had somehow done the impossible. Peeta Mellark had just become even more likable.

"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"

"We'll see, Caesar," Peeta lowered his gaze to his lap, and I gasped when I saw what was in his hands. He was slowly turning the Mockingjay pin that I had given him over in his palm. "We'll see."

This is when I catch on to what I've done.

I realize that my rare, emotional display at the train station earlier has made Peeta's little white lie, in the eyes of the Capitol, as well as the rest of Panem, a big bold truth.

I have provided them with the means to punish Peeta. I've given them myself.


	3. Chapter 3

As I wake and roll over to see that the other side of the bed is empty, I immediately start to panic. Prim, who is usually much later to rise than myself, had been nestled snugly beside me when I had finally gone to sleep last night. A quick glance toward the window reveals to me that the sun is not even out yet.

After the conversation with Peeta and Haymitch during my walk home, I can think of nothing but the absolute worse. Already my mind is racing toward thoughts of my little sister in the clutches of President Snow and the Capitol. Despite knowing that the easiest way to hurt Peeta now is through me, I had laid in bed for hours last night, thinking of how he had also thrown his arms around my little sister and mother for the entire nation to see. Wouldn't that place them at risk as well?

My hand is almost on the handle of my bedroom door when I hear Prim's voice coming from the living room. The sound of Peeta's laughter follows, and I return my hand to my side.

I'm shaking as I sit back down on the bed and run my hands through my tangled hair. I can feel the tension practically rolling off of me in waves.

I know that Peeta is here to help explain to my family what has to happen. I'm grateful that I don't hear Haymitch's voice, but almost wish that he was here to do all of the explaining instead of Peeta. I know that I should immediately get dressed and join them; help him through this conversation. I can't seem to move, though, and allow myself a few more minutes of cowardice.

A knock on the door causes me to lift my head from my hands.

"Katniss?" Peeta's voice comes from the other side, and I immediately stand.

"I'll be out in just a minute!" My voice is too loud, too hollow.

I jump off the mattress and quickly change out of my sleepwear and into normal clothes. I make my way out into the small hallway, but pop into the bathroom before I face everyone in the living room. I take my time brushing my teeth and combing through my hair. After splashing icy cold water on my face, I stare at myself in the small, cloudy mirror that hangs over the sink.

I bring a hand up and rub at my eyes one last time in an attempt to clear my head. I try to tell myself that I'm just going through the same actions that I would for my normal routine. I know that it's a lie, though. I'm stalling.

If this was a normal Sunday, I would already be in the woods with Gale.

Gale.

I hope that he's not worried. I've missed our Sunday hunts before, and I hope that he just assumes that something came up. I guess that something has, really.

I'll never have my 'normal routine' again.

I wonder how my mother and Prim are going to take the news.

I exit the bathroom and move down the hallway to the living room. I see that my mother and Prim are seated on the couch, with Peeta sitting in a kitchen chair that's been pulled in front of them. I move to settle beside him and he starts to stand, offering me the seat, but I wave him off. I don't think that I could sit still right now if I tried.

The dark circles under Peeta's eyes, as well as the fact that he's dressed in the same clothes from last night let me know that he hasn't slept. I feel a pang of guilt for the few hours that I had managed to get. He unconsciously begins to rub circles over his thighs with the palms of his hands; a nervous habit that he's always had.

I lightly place a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up at me. I nod my head, and find myself relieved when he finally starts to speak. I find that now that it's starting, the sooner this conversation is over with, the better.

It seems as though the time that Peeta should have spent at least trying to get some sleep; he had used to practice the speech that he's giving. He explains the situation to my family as calmly as possible, and is handling their reaction much better than I am.

When he explains what happened to Haymitch's family, Prim jumps from her seat and wraps her arms tightly around my waist. It doesn't take long before I can hear her cries, and feel my own eyes begin to water. Peeta tries to gently pull her away, but when she doesn't let go, pulls me closer to him instead. He stands and wraps his arms the best that he can around both of us, and I almost lose it when I feel my mother join into the hug.

Peeta pulls away slowly, and I can tell that he needs to sit back down. His face gives away nothing, but the way that his hands clench at his sides tightly lets me know that his leg must still be bothering him. I pull the chair up behind him, and then sit on the arm so it doesn't look as if I'm coddling him. He sits down, and I see his fists loosen.

"Prim." Peeta starts; looking her right in the eye. "I'm not going to let anything happen to your sister. I promise."

Peeta then goes on to explain the plan that he and Haymitch came up with last night. I wish that I could say that I helped, but in actuality, all I did was sit there and nod when I thought they needed a response from me. I look down at my hands, not wanting to see their reactions.

Haymitch convinced both Peeta and me that it would be best if I'm not left alone. I'll admit, with the story of his family still looming over my head, it didn't take much for me to agree. Since Peeta has just returned home, the cameras are pretty much guaranteed to be following his every move for at least the next month. If the cameras are on him, and I'm always with him, there's only so much that can happen.

Peeta and I will have to go along with the story that all of Panem now believes to be true. We will act as if we're in love for the cameras. I will be moved into Peeta's house in the Victors' Village, and my mother and Prim will stay with Haymitch next door.

At first, I had been appalled at the idea of my mother and little sister living with the bitter, old drunkard. I couldn't imagine someone as mild-mannered as my mother, or as sweet-natured as Prim, having to put up with his cantankerous ways day after day. Haymitch had reasoned that it made more sense this way because they would be kept out of direct danger more easily if they were not also living at Peeta's.

My mother would be hired on officially as Haymitch's housekeeper, and Prim would assist her in any way needed. Who knows, perhaps their more tolerable personalities would improve his own, though I was doubtful.

I can see the fear in both of their eyes as Peeta finishes sharing the details. It's not until he starts to apologize profusely that they both recognize just how upset and frightened he really is. Prim stands and exits the room, telling us in a strong voice that she's going to pack her things. I say that I'll help, and then follow her out of the room.

I'm almost in the bedroom when I hear Peeta speak again.

"Mrs. Everdeen… I… I am so sorry. About all of this." I can hear his voice shaking now, despite how strong it had sounded during his explanation. "I just want you to know that I won't let anything happen to Katniss. I won't let anything happen to any of you."

I silently take a few steps backward, peeking around the corner of the doorway. Peeta is standing beside my mother, one of his hands between both of hers. His back is to me, so when she steps forward to wrap her arms around him, we lock eyes. Hers fill with tears.

"I know you won't, Peeta. I know."

******

We get lucky with our timing. We manage to get my mother and Prim safely into Haymitch's house and rush across the lawns, closing the door to Peeta's home, just before the first cameramen and reporters return for the day. We had been hopeful this was the way things would go, but couldn't be positive.

It's not until the door is closed behind us and we both lean with our backs against it that the weight of our actions hits me. I look over at Peeta to find that he's already staring at me, his face showing signs of pure exhaustion. I'm about to ask when the last time he actually slept was, but can tell that he senses it coming when he starts to speak before I can. Peeta has always been good at avoidance when it comes to his own wants and needs.

"Let's get your stuff upstairs." He picks up the duffle bag I had carried from my house to his, and immediately moves to the stairs. I allow myself a few seconds to think of how sad it is that I managed to pack all of my belongings, aside from my bow which remains safe in the woods, into a single bag before I follow him up the steps.

When I reach the top, I see that Peeta is already moving toward the bedroom located across the hallway from his. He's almost at the door when he turns to face me.

"Sorry, I guess I should let you pick out which one you want." He opens his mouth again, and I can tell that there's more he wants to say. "I'll just feel a lot better if you're as close as possible."

I nod my head, and walk into the room ahead of him. The walls are painted a muted green and the carpeting is plush under my feet. To be honest, I care nothing about it, or any of the other rooms in this house. I watch as Peeta places my bag in a chair by the vanity that sits by a large window on the wall opposite the bed. I notice that from this room, I can see Haymitch's house clearly. This makes me feel just a tiny bit better.

"This room is fine." I offer him a small smile, and receive one from him in return. I step closer to him, and brush my fingertips underneath one of his eyes. He closes both of them in response, and his face instantly seems more at ease. I take hold of his hand, and start to lead him from the room. "Come with me."

If Peeta questions my words, he doesn't say anything. I push the door to his bedroom open. I see that his bed is still made, proving that he didn't even attempt sleep last night. I let go of his hand and throw all of the decorative pillows on the floor, and then pull the covers back. When I turn back to face him, I cross my arms over my chest and jerk my head back in the direction of the bed.

He raises his eyebrows, and then sighs heavily when my expression does not change.

"Katniss, I'm fine. Really. I'm not even that tired."

"Peeta." I push him to sit on the mattress. "When was the last time you even slept?"

He rolls his eyes, but scoots back anyway, swinging his legs onto the mattress with the rest of his body. He throws his head back on the pillow behind him, and rubs at his eyes harshly.

"I can't." His words come out as a whisper, and I find myself stepping closer to make sure I can hear him if he continues. When he doesn't, I sit on the edge of the bed beside him and place a hand on his arm.

"You can talk to me, you know."

"I know that, I just…. I don't want you to have to deal wi—," I put my finger on his lips to stop him.

"Peeta. You don't have to tell me everything now. You don't even have to tell me everything. I'm here, though. When you feel like you can talk, I'm here." I pause, and nudge his side with my hand. "For now, though…. At least try to get some sleep. Okay?"

He doesn't respond and I give him a pointed look. A look that lets him know this is not an issue I'm going to let go of.

"Fine," Peeta exhales slowly.

I move to stand up, but he grabs my hand before I can. I look down at him, the question in my eyes obvious.

"Will you stay?" He asks, and I can tell that he's embarrassed by it. His face is a light pink color, and he lowers his eyes from mine. "I promise to try and sleep as long as you stay. I'll be too worried otherwise."

"Sure."

I slip my shoes off and climb over him to lie on the side of the bed nearest the wall. I roll over on to my back, and then turn my head to face him.

He isn't blushing anymore, but he doesn't look entirely comfortable, either. If I'm being honest, I'm not completely comfortable, myself. Peeta and I have shared a bed before, but only in the way that two friends having a conversation in their bedrooms would. We've never shared a bed for actual sleep.

I take another look at his face, noting the circles underneath his eyes are almost a deep shade of purple now, and rid myself of my discomfort. Peeta needs this. Hell, the arrangement has been made with me in mind, so I must need this, too. I roll over on my side and try to ignore the way my heart rate seems to increase when he does the same.

"I haven't really slept since I woke up after the games."

We've been lying there in silence for the last few minutes, so when Peeta speaks, I'm caught off guard. I blink and remain quiet, hoping that he will elaborate.

"I just… I have a hard time closing my eyes." His breathing is getting heavier. He swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and I can see the tracks from their corners that the tears have left behind. My chest tightens. "I keep seeing their faces. I… I keep seeing her face."

We both know that he means Rue. I have no idea what I should say, so I do the only thing that I can think of. I move myself closer to Peeta and wrap my arms around him the best that I can. He returns the embrace with a sense of intensity that I had not been expecting. I rest my chin on his shoulder, and pull him even closer in return. I hear his shaky exhale beside my ear.

"I tried to sleep last night, but… but when I closed my eyes… When I closed my eyes, it was you that they were taking away."

I'm startled by this admission, and pull away just far enough so that I can see his face.

"Peeta, I'm here. If… I don't know, if you have that dream again-,"

"Nightmare," he interjects.

"If you have that nightmare again, I'll be here. You'll wake up, and I'll be here." I try to smile at him as I pull my arms away, but know that I'm probably failing. I take Peeta's left hand into my right, and hold it in between us. "Just try to sleep, alright?"

He nods, and after a few minutes of silence, finally closes his eyes. I watch him for a little while, studying his features and comparing them to what I remember from before the Reaping. His blonde curls are not as long as he usually wears them, and I suppose I have the Capitol stylists to thank for that, though I personally prefer them on the longer side. Aside from that, and the fact that the small amount of stubble he had possessed before is absent, everything about his face is blissfully the same.

I find myself fascinated by his eyelashes, noticing for the first time how thick and long they are. These are my last thoughts before I fall asleep beside him.

When I wake later, I'm thrown for a second by my surroundings. My body tenses, but relaxes after I blink my eyes a few times to see a pair of crystal blue eyes peering at me from the other side of the bed. Peeta looks more rested already, and I smile at him softly while gently squeezing his hand that's still holding tightly to mine.

I'm surprised to discover that the room is actually darker now than it was when we went to sleep earlier this morning. We must have slept all day.

"Feeling any better?" I ask quietly, almost afraid to disrupt the silence.

He smiles back at me, and brings his free hand up to run through his hair.

"Tons. I was starting to forget was actual sleep felt like."

The sound of a throat clearing from the hallway shatters the bubble that it feels like we've created over the two of us. Before I can react, Peeta has already sat up, placing his body in between mine and the door. I can see from his shoulders that he's breathing hard, and his muscles are once again tense.

"Relax, boy. It's just me."

"Damn it, Haymitch!" Peeta practically growls before he throws his body back onto the bed.

I peer over at the older man. He stands, leaning against on side of the door frame, with a smirk on his face. He straightens up a little before he speaks again.

"Sorry. Didn't want to interrupt. First time I've seen you actually rest since… Well, since you know." He started to move away from the doorway, but looked back. "Dinner's ready. Your mom and sister are here, sweetheart."

With those words, he disappears down the hallway. Peeta is already standing, and I can tell that he's still tense and upset at the scare that Haymitch just gave us. I quickly scoot to the end of the bed and grab his hand, causing him to turn to face me.

"I'm still here," I offer lamely, and feel relieved when his face softens.

He helps me up and pulls me into a quick hug. I lean down to retrieve my shoes from the floor when he speaks quietly from above me.

"No nightmares this time. Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

My father died when I was only 11 years old. That day had started out normal enough. It wasn't until the sirens went off during school that things changed.

I can still vividly recall standing there, crowded around the entrance of the mine. The elevator was working overtime to bring up the coal-covered men from the depths below. Even now I'm able to remember the looks of relief on the faces of so many as they were reunited with their husbands, fathers, brothers, sons, and other loved ones.

Fewer and fewer men came up, and eventually the elevator brought the last of the men to the surface. My father was not among them.

My nightmares started after that. I'm always standing there, yelling for my father; urging him to escape the mine before it explodes. He is never fast enough and I'm forced to watch as he's reduced to bits each time.

Even now, five years later, I still wake up screaming for him to run.

And this is how I wake up tonight; the first night I'm spending at Peeta's house.

At first, just like earlier, I'm not sure where I am. I'm sitting upright, my skin drenched in sweat, hair plastered to my forehead. My fists are clenched tight, the covers bunched inside them, and I can still feel the remnants of my screams in the back of my now-raw throat.

My heartbeat is still erratic and heavy when Peeta throws the door to the bedroom open and bursts through it. He has not only reached my bedside, but lifted himself on to the mattress, taking my wrists into his hands, before I can even react to his appearance.

He doesn't speak, just moves his hands down to help unclench my fists. He straightens out the covers and waits for my breathing to return to normal. This takes several minutes, and I study the way that the bedroom looks with the moonlight streaming in through the windows in the meantime.

"I'm sorry." My voice is raspy and I'm embarrassed by how breathless and unlike myself I sound. Without another word, I slide my body back down, flat on the mattress, and bring the blankets up to my chin.

Peeta sighs and shrugs his shoulders before motioning for me to move over. I do so without question.

"I wasn't sleeping anyway," he offers as he brings his left arm up to fold underneath his head. He lays his right on top of the covers, and I can't help but notice that the burn scars that covered his forearm from years of working with the ovens at his family's bakery are now gone. Another thing the Capitol did to 'improve' him, no doubt.

"Your dad?"

His question hangs in the air for a second before I realize its meaning. I briefly wonder just how long I've been staring at his arm before I answer.

"Yeah. Sleeping, or not, I'm sorry that I scared you."

"I'm better now that I know that you're okay."

I'm unable to stop myself from wondering how he can do that. It's remarkable to me that he's the one that's been through some of the most horrible, horrific things, but is still able to make me feel like his number one priority.

The silence is not uncomfortable, but I feel as if it's almost suffocating me regardless. I say the first thing that I can think of.

"They got rid of your scars." A confused look takes up his face, and I clarify. "From the ovens."

"Oh. Yeah, they did that before the Games even started." He pauses, as if unsure of whether or not he should continue. "They got rid of the others, too."

He doesn't have to elaborate for me to know the scars that he's talking about.

The very first interaction that I ever had with Peeta Mellark had left him with a scar. Nothing like the ones that refers to now, but a scar nonetheless. It was small, and over the years had faded to point of near invisibility, but I had always been able to find it there on his cheek. That scar was missing now, as well.

The ones he's referring to were much worse.

******

The morning of my 14th birthday, Peeta was supposed to meet me in the meadow near my house. When he didn't show up, I was concerned, but assumed that something had come up at the bakery and I would see him later. I continued about the day as usual, meeting up with Gale at the Hob, and arrived home a little before dinner time.

I had never made a big deal about my birthday, and that year was no exception. As far as I was concerned, birthdays only served as a countdown to the day that you would no longer be eligible for the Reaping. This line of thinking rendered my own day of birth meaningless, really. I wouldn't be able to fully celebrate a birthday until it meant that Prim would be safe as well.

We had just sat down to dinner when there was a knock on the front door. When I opened it, I knew that something was wrong as soon as I saw him.

"Happy birthday, Katniss." He had smiled wider as he lifted his arm to hand me the small, brown paper bag that I knew would contain one, perfectly iced cookie. I always told him he didn't need to give me anything.

I took the bag from his hand, and grinned at his refusal to listen to my requests of 'no gifts' each year. I simply cocked my head to the side and rolled my eyes playfully. I had learned by then that he would never listen to me on that subject.

"Thanks, Peeta. Come on in, we're just getting ready to eat."

Peeta didn't normally eat with us, mostly because we all knew that providing enough food for my family of three alone was a struggle at times. We had anticipated his visit, though, and had managed to prepare a bit more than usual.

As he started to move past me, through the doorway, his stride was more rigid than usual. His hands tightened into fists at his sides as he took the slight step up from the porch into the entryway of my house. It wasn't until he was almost passed me that I saw it.

"Peeta, you're bleeding."

I heard his hissed reply of 'damn it' seconds before my mother was out of her seat and at his side. Thin streaks of blood had started to soak through the thin material of his shirt across the back of his shoulder.

To be honest, I don't remember much of the day after that point. For someone who spends her days hunting and cleaning game, the sight of human blood has never been something that I can stomach. I do recall my mother's words of how surprisingly deep the wounds ran and the look of disgust on her face as she walked out the front door not long after she had finished treating them. She returned home an hour later with a look of satisfaction on her face.

That was the last time that Mrs. Mellark ever laid a hand on Peeta in anger.

******

Before I realize exactly what I'm doing, I find myself sitting up in the bed. I pull the covers down to Peeta's waist and grab at the hem of his t-shirt. I don't even look at his face as I begin to pull the shirt from his torso. He complies with my actions, and sits up as well. He has the shirt over his head within seconds and I'm on my knees, positioned behind him immediately.

I would have hated those scars regardless. When my mother had let it slip that he had gotten them by standing up for me after his mother had muttered some nasty remark, though, the very thought of them had made me sick to my stomach. I close my eyes for a brief second and can picture the thick, raised, white patches of flesh.

When I open my eyes, a feeling of pure relief rushes through me as I see the smooth expanse of Peeta's back. Just as he'd said, the scars are gone. This is the only thing that I silently thank the Capitol for. I lay my palms flat against his skin and lean forward slightly to get a better look. I can't find a single trace that there were ever any blemishes there.

I let out a long, relieved breath. When I feel the slight tremble of his muscles, I become acutely aware of the lack of space between the two of us.

The bare skin of the fronts of my thighs is pressed against his back while my hands are still splayed across it. My hair, loose from its usual braid, is hanging in front of my shoulder and brushing lightly over the top of Peeta's as well. In the span of less than a day, we've gone from being uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed, to being half-naked together in one.

I try not to let my sudden nerves show as I carefully move back over to my side. Only in a tank top and my underwear, I quickly cover my lower half once again before looking back at him. I'm thankful that my half of the bed is mostly in the shadows as my face reddens at the sight of his unclothed chest. Peeta has never been overly modest, and I suppose being exposed on national television in various states of undress during the Games has not changed that.

"Sorry."

He shrugs, and I watch as the muscles in his shoulders flex slightly. Again, I'm thankful for the shadows on my side of the room.

"You don't…. You don't mind if I stay here with you tonight, do you?"

I shake my head 'no' and surprise both of us at the immediacy of my consent.

I shiver then, and settle myself back underneath the covers to rid my arms of the goose bumps the cool night air has caused. I roll onto my side, facing away from Peeta, pulling my knees up into the fetal position. I do this partly because the sheets at the bottom of the mattress are cold, but mostly to hide the flush of my cheeks that I'm certain he'll notice sooner or later. The satiny feel of the covers the Capitol has used to decorate this bed has no instant effect on my chilled skin, and I shiver once more.

I feel the mattress sink beneath his weight as Peeta lowers himself back into a laying position. When I feel the heat from his chest seeping through the fabric of my tank top onto my back, my heart rate picks up speed. His arm comes up and I feel his hand cover my shoulder. He moves it up and down in a motion that creates heat and eventually comes to stop once he feels the goose bumps subside.

"That better?"

"Yeah…" My voice trails off, and he starts to remove his arm. Without words, I reach up to stop him. I grab his hand in mine, and bring them both down to settle underneath my chin. His chest rests fully against my back, and I feel my muscles instantly relax.

We lay there in silence for a few minutes before I have to say what's on my mind.

"I just had to see for myself… I've always hated them. The scars, I mean."

Peeta's voice is quiet in my ear when he responds a few beats later.

"I know… I always thought they were worth it, though."

******

I'm sitting in the kitchen, listening with my ear pressed against the swinging door that separates this room from the dining area. Peeta is currently seated at the dining room table, giving his first official interview in his new home. So far, I've done a good job of avoiding the cameras, but I know that my cue will be coming soon.

After breakfast this morning, Haymitch had paid us a visit. With the Capitol reporters and cameras already outside the front door, he had no choice but to drag us into one of the bathrooms. I had been confused by his actions at first, but caught on quickly as he turned on the faucets to the sinks and the shower as high as they would go. He even went as far as to turn on the noisy contraption that he'd explained to me was a hair dryer so that our conversation wouldn't be as likely to be overheard.

I roll my eyes at the plate of cheese buns that's sitting on the counter beside my elbow. Anyone that knows me will not believe the show that I'm prepared to put on in just a few minutes. I have to keep reminding myself that this is being filmed for just that, people that do not know me.

I will smile and I will play the part of the vapid, lovesick girl.

Haymitch has promised me that my time actually on camera this first time will be short. He said that he can't say as much for future 'performances', but this one should set the tone for upcoming appearances and how the audience will perceive me.

Again, like the night before, it is almost as if just thinking his name acts as a signal for him to appear. He comes in through the door that leads into the house from the back porch and leans against the counter, his eyes watching me carefully.

"You sure you're up for this, girlie?"

I nod without looking at him, my ear still pressed against the door.

"You can't screw this up."

His voice is harsh and bitter sounding. I look over at him then, and his brows lower to form a harsh line over his eyes. He steps closer and lowers his voice even more.

"That boy… He deserves nothing but the best this world has to offer him. I didn't bring him home just so he can end up like me." Before I can reply, he picks the plate of bread up from the counter and shoves them into my hands. His eyes still hard, he pushes me toward the door. "You're up."

Whether he realizes it, or not, I know the importance of my performance. I push the door open with one hip, and casually meander my way through the dining room as if this is normal, everyday behavior for me. I keep my eyes down on the cheese buns on the plate in front of me, as if giving them a thorough inspection. My head still lowered, I start to speak.

"Peeta, I don't know… I followed the recipe you gave me to a t, but I'm not sure…." I allow my voice to trail off as I look up from the plate, and feign surprise at finding the cameraman and reporter in the same room as me. I quickly set the plate down on the table in front of me, and bring a hand up to my mouth. "Oh! I'm sorry! I… I didn't realize you were busy."

Peeta stands then, just as we had practiced. He moves swiftly around the corner of the table, and places a hand on the small of my back. His smile is bright, and I find myself mirroring it without having to think about it.

"Don't be sorry. Here, sit down." He pulls out the chair that is situated next to his own. "I wanted to introduce you anyway."

I sit, not taking my eyes off of Peeta's face. I join my hand with his and smile at him again as he settles them on top of his thigh. At the sound of the reporter clearing her throat, I remember that I am supposed to make myself as likeable as possible for these people.

I turn to face the woman sitting across the table, and try not to focus on the swirls of silver ink that have been tattooed across her face. I hide my distaste for the pale purple waves of hair that are laced with streaks of fluorescent pink, and ignore the flecks of light that shine off the jewels that are incrusted in her nails.

"I'm so sorry!" I'm bordering on disgust for the syrupy sweet tone of my voice, and can only hope that it doesn't show. "How rude of me. I'm Katniss. It's lovely to meet you."

I watch as her ultraviolet eyes practically light up in recognition. She quickly straightens in her seat, and goes right back to the interview.

"So you're the girl that's won over Peeta's heart."

It's not really a question, but she looks over at me as if expecting an answer anyway.

"Oh, well," I start to speak, and the blush on my face is embarrassingly genuine. "I guess you could say that. I certainly feel as if I've won something amazing."

I feel Peeta's fingers squeeze mine, followed by the sensation of his warm lips on my cheek. The flush on my face deepens.

I'm thankful when Peeta does almost all of the talking for the remainder of the session. I sit there with my eyes trained on his face, a smile plastered to my own. For the most part, my expression is forced, but there are moments when a real laugh breaks through. Peeta has always been good with words, and is much more charming than I think he realizes.

Once the interview is over and Peeta and I have seen the reporter and her cameraman out the door, we rush to the kitchen. Haymitch is waiting for us and, knowing that he had been watching and listening in the entire time, I'm anxious to see how he thought things had gone.

He doesn't say much, merely shrugs his shoulders and says that we'll have to wait for it to air in order to find out. I'm surprised when we don't have to wait long at all.

My mother and Prim have come for dinner and, after eating, we're all sitting in the living room. The television is on the Capitol news station and I'm truthfully not paying much attention until I hear a sharp intake of breath from my mother. I look up to find that Peeta's interview from just this afternoon is already being shown.

We all sit in silence, watching, and I have to hide my face in my palms once I come on screen. I fidget through the rest of the segment, then immediately look to Haymitch for confirmation once it's over. His face is hard to read, which could be a good or bad thing, but my stomach drops at the lack of approval regardless.

"You need to remember this! You're supposed to be in love with this boy. You never thought you would see him again, yet against all odds, he made it home to you. I want you to be over the top because they want it to be over the top. If the people of Panem don't believe you, you can sure as hell bet that Snow won't."

Haymitch's voice is harsh and clipped as he addresses me near the trees of the property line in Peeta's backyard. He's standing in front of us, close enough for me to smell the surprising lack of alcohol fumes. I quickly say a silent 'thank you' for this, and hope that having my family in his home is keeping him on his best behavior.

"I don't know how to be over the top!" I hiss, wishing just once that he would give me more explicit instructions. He ignores me instead, and turns to Peeta.

"And you. You're the one that actually made it home to her. You never thought you would get this chance. Stop holding back, boy."

His finger is poking into Peeta's chest and I find myself irrationally angry by this action. I step forward, gripping Haymitch's wrist, and pull him away forcefully. Something about the look in his eyes as he glares at Peeta makes me wonder about the words he's just thrown at him.

"We're trying here, Haymitch." The words are practically spit from my mouth.

"No. You're trying. He's holding back."

I blink and shake my head slightly, wondering if maybe I was mistaken and he's drunk after all. His words aren't making any sense to me. It seems that Peeta either understands him, or is just trying to get the conversation back on track, though. He steps forward, putting himself between his mentor and myself.

"Cut the crap, Haymitch. Just tell us what we need to do." His voice is to the point and serious.

Haymitch steps forward and harshly pushes the two of us together. Peeta's arms encircle my waist to steady me. I immediately grab onto his shoulders to do the same. He takes our hands, forces them together and then takes a step back to survey us. After a few seconds of observation, he moves back in and takes his hands, placing one of the back of each of our heads. He turns us to face each other and tilts Peeta's head down before placing a finger underneath my chin to bring mine up.

"Make it more convincing. I don't care if the cameras are here, or not. I want you two making this as real as possible. Practice," Haymitch scoffs. "They want to see fire. Give them fire."

He turns and stalks off across the yard toward his own house. We stand there, his message obvious. Peeta swallows hard and I look back down at my feet, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Sensing this, he loosens his hold on me and takes a step back.

"I'm sorry." I start talking and decide to go ahead and take Haymitch's advice.

I grab Peeta's hand to pull him back to stand closer to me. I see a flicker of awareness in his eyes, and he moves closer without me having to use as much force.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about, Katniss."

His words come out soft, and he brings a hand up to carefully graze the side of my face. The slight tremor that runs through me is real, but I can't let him know that. I turn my body to face his fully, and wrap my arms around his neck. My fingers begin to play with the curls at the nape of his neck, and his eyes flutter closed for a second.

"But I do. Haymitch said that they want over the top. I guess I'll have to give them that." I pause, and for a moment, forget that everything is riding on this act of ours. Right now, I'm just a girl, with her best friend, that's incredibly unsure of herself. So I decide to do what I always do when I'm feeling insecure.

I lower my voice to what I hope is a seductive whisper.

"Tell me, do you think this is over the top enough?"

I look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and begin to flutter my lashes at him. I start to lean up, softly biting my lower lip. I've barely started to close the distance between our faces when neither of us can take it anymore.

Peeta cracks first, and the smile that splits across his face is more genuine than I've seen in all the time we've been alone together since his return. His laugh rings out across the empty yard, and mine follows. I playfully push at his chest, and he grabs at my hands to swing me out to the side. My shoulders are still shaking with laughter when we fall back, lying on top of the picnic table that sits on the patio.

"Sorry," Peeta starts, traces of a chuckle still evident in his voice. "You just… God, I've never seen you try so hard to be something you're not."

If it weren't completely true, or coming from my best friend, I would probably be offended by his words.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Peeta Mellark. I can be quite the seductress if need be."

"I'm sure. I just wish that you didn't need to be…."

As his words hit me, the brief moment of normalcy we just shared is gone. I turn to face him and part my lips to speak, but no words come out. He offers me a sad smile and looks back up at the moon through the tree branches that hang above us.

"You'll be fine, Katniss." He sits up, and I follow his motions. The smirk on his face as he looks at me reminds me of every other time he's teased me in the past. "I mean, all we've got to give them is fire, right?"

I throw my face down into my hands and feel his hand start to rub at my back. He laughs lightly and I don't want to join him, but my resistance only results in a snort that makes us both break into full-out laughter once again.

"Oh god," I try to breathe in between words. "I really am going to need the practice, aren't I?"


	5. Chapter 5

It took longer than I expected for the guilt to creep up on me.

I've spent a little over a week locked away with Peeta in his new home. Sure, I've visited with my mother and Prim at Haymitch's, but other than them, and the irritating Capitol reporter that conducted the interview; I haven't had contact with anyone else.

I'm ashamed of myself when Prim mentions that she saw Hazelle and Rory in the marketplace earlier this morning. Other than a handful of times, I haven't stopped to think of Gale and what his thoughts about this whole charade must be. I feel absolutely terrible when it hits me that he probably doesn't even know that it is a charade.

That is the realization that's brought me to where I am now.

Standing outside the back entrance to the Mellark family's bakery, I'm waiting, impatiently, for Hazelle to make an appearance. After it was decided for me that I couldn't be allowed to pay them a visit in their homes, Haymitch had begrudgingly escorted my family to the Hawthorne house last night. They passed along a message to have Hazelle meet me here this morning.

I'm nervous about seeing her, about trying to explain to her why I've suddenly had to stop hunting in the woods each morning to provide for her family, as well as my own. She is a very kind woman, with a strong spirit, though. If there is anything that I know she'll understand, it's the need that I feel to protect to my family. Surely, she'll be able to see that this is not purely about self-preservation, or a loss of affection for her family.

Hazelle has met Peeta several times throughout the years, and knows how close we are. She knows that on certain levels, the two of us are closer than I am with Gale. I can only hope that she doesn't see these actions as me abandoning the friendship that I have with him.

Gale has started working in the mines since the Games ended, that being the reason I requested Hazel come to see me instead of him. I know that he'll probably be working most of the day. So when I spot his tall, broad shouldered form making its way down the alleyway that I'm standing in, I'm surprised to say the least.

Maybe it is because I'm becoming more accustomed to affection, or maybe it's simply because I've missed him, but my feet are suddenly moving on their own accord. Once I meet him, half-way between the doorway I'd been standing in and the end of the small, dark street, I fling my arms around his shoulders. He's taller than Peeta, and I have to stand on my tip toes to reach his neck. He steps back slightly, lifting me off the ground for a brief moment.

Once he lowers me back to the ground, I rock back onto my heels to get a better look at him. I can immediately tell that he's tired, almost dead on his feet, really, with heavy bags underneath his eyes. It's obvious that he's given his best attempt at wiping away the coal dust from his face, but there are still traces of soot near his hairline and the curve of his jaw. His clothes are covered in a fine layer of dirt near the edges, making it apparent that he's recently been wearing the standard coveralls all of the workers at the mine wear while on shift.

Another thing that his appearance tells me is that, other than the hug, I won't be receiving any other show of affection from Gale. His posture is stiff and uncomfortable. His expression is blank and I can't decipher the look in his grey eyes.

Gale Hawthorne is, aside from Peeta, my closest friend. His father died in the same accident that I lost mine. The first time I saw Gale was at the ceremony where we were both awarded the Medal of Valor in honor of our fallen fathers. It wasn't until later that year, not long after my first real interaction with Peeta, when we met again in the woods outside of District 12. It took months for us to really trust one another, but before long we realized the mutual benefit that our partnership served.

I have to admit that the similarities between our lives made initialing bonding with Gale much easier than doing so with Peeta. We are both from the Seam, and know what it's like to have a family that depends on us for survival. We both know the pain that's felt when you lose a loved one.

Gale locks his eyes with mine and then lowers his head slightly. He starts to reach out for me with one hand before stuffing it back into his pocket. The other hand comes to rest of the back of his neck. He looks as uncomfortable as I suddenly feel.

"Is it true?"

His voice, deep and husky, is quieter than normal. It's an almost defeated tone, really, and I don't think that I've ever heard him sound this way. I'm confused, but that seems to be my default emotion these days.

"Gale, I-,"

"I mean, I know half of it's true, at least." Gale's gaze turns into a glare as he fixes his eyes on a point just over my shoulder. I turn to see that Peeta is now standing just inside the open doorway to the bakery, his arms folded over his chest, with a look of concern on his face. I turn back to face forward.

"Gale, just trust me. It's complicated."

I expect him to say something, but he continues to remain silent. He's still sending daggers toward Peeta with his eyes.

"You can't be mad at him. This is not his fault." I throw my hands into the air, frustration taking over. "You can't be mad at anyone because you have no idea what's even going on!"

He finally lowers his eyes back to mine and takes a step closer.

"Then tell me."

I relay the story him the best that I can – What happened to Haymitch's family, how the Capitol is upset over how Peeta won the games, the mistake that I made as soon as I flung myself at him on the platform of the train station, and finally the ruse that we have to act out.

Things between Gale and me have never been romantic. Hell, as it's been pointed out recently, I wouldn't know romantic if it bit me on the nose. There have been times, though, in the woods when I've caught him staring at me from the corner of my eye. He's brought up the idea of running away more than a few times. Just the two of us, living in the woods. He says that we could make it, and I don't disagree with him.

I always joke, saying that we could never make it with so many people that depend on us to survive. That it could never just be the two of us. I'm usually able to talk my way out of those awkward conversations, but I know that they are part of the reason that I'm nervous right now.

"It's all my fault," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. "If I hadn't acted like such a fool when I saw him again…"

I look up then to see that Gale's eyes are stormy and the space between his eyebrows is creased. Before I can react, he has his hands on my shoulders, gripping them tightly.

"None of this is your fault, Catnip." He hisses the sentence and I'm surprised by the intensity in his voice. This voice that he's using is usually reserved for our times spent outside the fence of District 12. This is the voice that he uses when ranting about the Capitol and how unjust the life they've damned us to really is. "If he hadn't said anything in that damned interview! He couldn't have made his feeling more clear if he tri-,"

I'm so focused on his tirade that I don't notice Peeta's presence until he's there beside me, cutting off Gale's words. He places a hand on the small of my back, and I turn back to see that there is another camera crew crowded together in the bakery's back doorway. I immediately fall back into my role and loop my arm around his waist. The flash of anger that crosses Gale's face is almost imperceptible, but all those hours alone in the woods have given me plenty of opportunity to become familiar with his moods, and the expressions that each one carries.

"Gale." Peeta's voice is stern, and I can feel the tremors that are running through his limbs. I look back and forth between my two friends, not knowing what to do, or say. "We need to talk."

Gale nods and turns on his heel to walk back to the entrance of the alleyway. Peeta turns to me and silently pleads for me to let them have this time to talk. As much as I want to help him explain the situation to Gale in further detail, I give him a small nod.

Remembering the cameras, before he goes I grab his hand. Peeta turns to look at me, caught off guard by my actions in his haste to talk to Gale, and starts to ask if anything is wrong. I quickly lean up on my tiptoes; place a hand on his chest, and lean up to kiss his cheek. My hand must throw him slightly off balance because his new leg wobbles at the last second, causing my kiss to land instead on the corner of his mouth.

My face immediately turns pink, and I look down. Luckily, Peeta recovers more quickly than I do, and leans down to kiss my forehead. He tucks a strand of stray hair behind my ear, causing me to finally bring my eyes up to his. His face is pink as well, and this makes me feel better instantly. He quickly grabs my hand in his, gives it a squeeze, and walks to go join Gale.

I watch him go, unconsciously bringing my fingers to my lips. I meet Gale's eyes for a split second, and the look of pain in them leaves me feeling even more confused. He kicks a rock against the side of the building beside him and shakes his head slightly before looking away.

My heart drops into my stomach.

******

"Her cousin," Haymitch says on the television screen later that night. "He doesn't think she's old enough to have a boyfriend."

The small segment on the Mellark family's bakery comes to a close. I turn to face the man sitting in the armchair next to the couch with disbelief. He merely raises one eyebrow and tips his bottle back without saying a word.

"What?"

Peeta tries to grab my arm, but I'm able to avoid his grasp. I'm out the back door and seated atop the picnic table within seconds. I can hear the sounds of Peeta moving down the steps of the porch, the clicking of his artificial giving away the fact that it's him. I don't look as he sits down beside me.

"I'm sorry." I bite back the urge to snap at him, telling him to quit apologizing before he continues. "Haymitch said that he had to think of something quick. Something to keep the cameras off of us. A 'love triangle' wouldn't exactly be a good thing for us right now."

He uses finger quotes around the term that makes me visibly squirm. I exhale loudly, and turn to face him.

"There is no 'love triangle'," I huff, mimicking the same motions he used seconds before. "It's not like that with Gale."

I watch as Peeta's jaw goes slack. It takes me a few seconds to realize the implication of my words. I've unconsciously just suggested that while there are no romantic feelings between Gale and me, there are some with Peeta. I open my mouth to speak and, for the first few tries, nothing comes out. I feel like a fish out of water.

"I.. I mean, it's not…. It's not like that, period."

I stand then, and brush off the back of my pants just to have something to do with my hands.

"I'm going head up to bed. I've got a headache."

I rush back into the house without looking back.

******

It's been almost a month since I started living with Peeta. We've fallen into a fairly comfortable routine. With the exception of the occasional camera crew, and the lack of hunting I've been doing, things feel almost normal.

I wake up each morning, sometimes in my own bed, and sometimes in Peeta's depending on his nightmares. We've discovered that it's easier for him to sleep if he knows I'm nearby. Either way, by the time that I'm awake, Peeta is already up. More often than not, the smell of freshly baked bread is wafting up the staircase by the time that I'm dressed and ready to start the day.

Mother and Prim join us for all meals, along with Haymitch. It's odd, after so many years of only seeing him at the Reapings, to get a sense of who he is, outside of the drunken hermit everyone knows him as. He's been noticeably more sober as time has gone on. My mother even insists that he's not entirely unbearable to coexist with.

During the day, Peeta and I sometimes go to his family's bakery where he helps out, despite his father's protests that he isn't obligated to do so. I can tell, even though he doesn't say it himself, that Peeta is clinging to as many things from his life before the Games as he can. When I quietly explained this to Mr. Mellark, the objections to Peeta being there stopped.

In the evenings, Peeta usually disappears into one of the bedrooms upstairs that he's converted into an art studio. Some nights, he's in there for hours. Nights that I fall asleep beside him, only to wake up before sunrise alone, I can hear him moving around inside the room. He locks the door behind him, always, and I don't question him on this. I know that there are some things that everyone needs to keep to themselves.

We returned from the bakery, earlier than usual today, thanks to the event taking place tomorrow. When the telephone rang (which still makes me jump each time) a few days ago, Peeta was informed that none other than Caesar Flickerman would be making a trip to District 12 for a special 'After the Games' interview of his own. Peeta and I had thought nothing of it, really.

Well, not until Haymitch had a chance to react to the news.

******

"I want you two to listen to me, and listen good." He had immediately dragged us to our regular conversation spot, and I knew no good would come of it when he pulled the silver flask from his pocket. "This interview has to be perfect. The two of you have to be the perfect couple. People are already in love with Peeta, but they need to be in love with both of you, as that perfect couple. You cannot let them want Peeta alone."

Peeta and I looked at each and then back to Haymitch, nodding in unison. Something about the look in the older man's eyes made us both too scared to speak.

"Just trust me." He took another pull from his flask. "This isn't normal procedure. They don't just send Flickerman out to interview every victor in their homes. The last time this happened was almost ten years ago with Finnick Odair."

Haymitch disappeared into his own house then, not offering any further explanation.

******

So here we sit, the house empty except for the two of us, on the edge of Peeta's bed. His leg has been bothering him all day and we figure that we may as well rest as much as we can. I'm pretty sure that we won't be getting much actual sleep tonight. Peeta's prep team from the Games is supposed to be here bright and early to prepare the both of us.

After a few moments, our whispered conversation begins.

"Do you think we're ready for this?" Peeta asks, bringing his legs up onto the bed.

I move to take my place beside him, already clad in my sleepwear. I pull the blankets out from under us and cover our bodies from the legs, down.

"The actual interview will be a piece of cake, Peeta. It's not hard for me to say nice things about you."

I nudge his side with my elbow, and then lay my head on his shoulder. He exhales loudly, and holds my hand in his. The action is starting to feel like second nature to me by now.

"Yeah, well it's not hard to say nice things about you, either."

We sit in silence for a few minutes. We both know that it's not the interview questions that we're worrying about. Even in a situation as dire as this, Peeta is too much of a gentleman to broach the subject, so I decide I'll have to be the one to bring it up.

"As far as the…. other stuff goes…. I'm sure we can just, you know, wing it."

Peeta pulls his body away from mine slightly, causing me to lift my head. He's looking down at me in disbelief.

"Wing it? No offense, Katniss, but I don't really think that fire is something that we'll just be able to wing. I mean, we… we can't exactly let our first kiss on camera look like…. Well, our first kiss."

"Well, technically -," I start, but he stops me by putting his hand over my mouth.

"Technically, you accidentally kissing the side of my mouth for a quarter of a second doesn't count." He smirks over at me for being able to predict what I was about to say, and I swat at his side with my hand. This is first time either of us has brought up said kiss.

"I know… I just…, I don't know what I'm doing…" I duck my face as I feel my cheeks starting to heat up.

I'm becoming increasingly irritated with myself and my attitude toward this matter. Truth be told, I've never really thought much about kissing anyone, let alone my best friend. Growing up in District 12, in addition to losing my father and seeing the effect it had on my mother, has left a bitter taste in my mouth. Romance isn't something that I've ever allowed myself to worry about. As far as I'm concerned, romance only leads to heartache.

When I think about what's at stake, though, I become conflicted. It's not the idea of my own safety being threatened, but the thought of Peeta being hurt, of Peeta being taken away from me somehow, that leads to a pain that I don't quite understand. Perhaps it's because of my own selfish ways.

I look over at him from the corner of my eye, a display of concern clear on his face, and immediately understand just what that pain is. Peeta's agony, or the lack of his presence in my life, would lead to form of heartache all on its own, with, or without, the romance.

"Katniss, are you alright?"

His words shake me from my stupor, but I can't bring myself to reply. I do the only thing that I can think of at the moment.

My lips crash into Peeta's suddenly, and I think the action must shock us both. With no experience at this sort of thing, I have no idea what I'm doing, but seem to be acting on instinct alone. Thankfully, it only takes Peeta a few seconds to respond to the kiss. I'm surprised when I feel his lips part slightly, and he gently pulls my bottom lip in between both of his. I would be embarrassed by the gasp I let out if he didn't do the same as I trace his top lip with my tongue.

Aside from what's occurring between us, my mind is a complete blank. I can't even begin to concentrate on anything other than the way he tastes, like cinnamon and mint from the tea we had after dinner, or the feeling of his hair that my fingers are now weaving themselves into. I begin to feel a tightness in my stomach that I'm not familiar with, and it only grows stronger as the kiss deepens.

I feel the pressure of Peeta's tongue on my lips, and don't hesitate to grant it entrance. It's a foreign feeling, but a welcome one. Before I can have any second thoughts, I push him back slightly, resting my torso on his after he's situated against the pillows underneath his head. I pull away for air, but am still close enough so that my breath mingles with his. I feel his hands, one on the back of my neck, and the other gripping at my waist.

I'm surprised at how good this all feels. At how natural it is to me.

My hands are grasping at the front of his shirt, and then at the sides of his face. I've never felt this raw sense of intensity before, and I can't help but want to be as close as possible to him. While one hand remains on his face, the other moves down to his side, where I find the bottom of his shirt has ridden up. I feel bare flesh and move to run my fingers farther up, along his side. He's warm, and I can hear his breath hitch at my touch.

I can feel his lips form a smile and find my own doing the same. He pulls his mouth from my own and kisses the corner of my grin, followed by my cheek, and then temple. I run my nose alongside his own and kiss the tip of it.

We're both breathing heavily as I open my eyes. I shouldn't be caught off guard by how close the crystal blue orbs are, but again, this is a new thing for me.

At the exact same moment, what we've just done dawns on us both.

I bring my hand out from underneath his t-shirt as he releases his hold on my waist. I avert my eyes as I roll over onto my side and off of him. A few minutes go by and once our breathing is back to normal we turn to face each other again.

Peeta stretches as he brings his arm up behind his head. My eyes flicker down to the patch of skin that shows where his shirt has shifted upward. When I look back up, his eyebrow is quirked, and I know I've been caught. Thankfully, he chooses not to mention it.

"Well, I'd say that's a pretty good start." He reaches over, eyes on the ceiling, and hooks his pinkie finger around mine.

I feel a blush creeping back onto my face, and try to stamp down the feeling of butterflies in my stomach. The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Felt like fire to me."


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up to the sounds of unfamiliar voices coming up the staircase. I open my eyes just enough to peer through my eyelashes, toward the window. The sky is just beginning to lighten outside, and I can tell that it's still very early. I don't even remember falling asleep last night.

The creak of the top step makes me tense, grabbing the comforter and pulling it tightly to my chest. I'm about to roll over to wake Peeta when he wraps an arm around me to bring me flush against his body. He laces his fingers with mine and I grip them tightly, hoping he'll understand the silent question I'm asking.

He shifts, and I can feel my pillow sink down farther at the weight of his head. His breath hits the outer shell of my ear and the sensation causes my arms to break out into goosebumps. He pushes the arm that he was lying on underneath me, and I lift up to allow room for his movements. Within seconds, I find myself cocooned in the warmth of his arms.

"Don't worry; it's just my prep team."

His voice in my ear, still rough from sleep, makes me shiver involuntarily. I press my body more firmly against his chest, and settle one of my legs in between the two of his. The hard plastic of his artificial leg is cool and foreign feeling in comparison to the other. I turn my head slightly, and his lips graze my cheek.

"So… showtime?" I ask quietly.

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, and then nods. Even though I don't think it's possible, he manages to pull me even closer just before we feign sleep and hear the bedroom door begin to open.

"Peeta, sweetheart, we're heeeeerrreee!" A sing-song voice calls out over the quiet room. "Oh! Oh, my. We'll…we'll come back!"

I can feel Peeta raise his head from the pillow and turn to face the doorway.

"Hi, Portia," he greets her calmly, running his hand up and down my arm. "We'll just be a minute."

She makes a sound of approval and I then hear the click of her heels as she walks back down the hallway. Peeta sits up a little and brings my face around to meet his with his fingertips. He places a sweet, warm kiss on my lips that I instantly smile into before getting up from the bed to close the door. I open my eyes and sit up, still gripping the blankets to me.

******

From the crack of the quickly closing door I'm able to make out the silhouette of a cameraman and know that our day has started out just as we need it to.

Peeta has talked about his prep team several times since he's been home. All of the things he's said have been good. I wish that I could say the same about them after the last few hours.

I had no idea how painful and tedious meeting the Capitol's standard of 'presentable' was. It honestly makes my stomach churn to think about how many of the nation's citizens don't have the time, energy, or resources to even care about their appearance; meanwhile people in the Capitol think of little else. Out of respect for Peeta, however, I kept my mouth shut the entire time. I was polite, I even went as far as to smile and make small talk with the attendants as they painfully ripped the hair from my eyebrows.

I'm surprised by how normal Portia seems in comparison to all of the other Capitol residents that I've had firsthand contact with so far. She works quickly and doesn't say much to me throughout the process. She is, by no means, rude, but there's just something off about the way she looks at me.

"So," she starts before pulling out a garment bag that I assume holds what I'll be wearing. "We've heard a lot about you. From Peeta."

I am in the process of untying the sash from my robe when this sentence halts my movements. I try to think of something to say, but come up with nothing. Instead I smile, and wonder to myself what in the world Peeta could have ever told his prep team about me. Portia gives me a small smile and starts to unzip the bag.

"So my guess was right, then." She pulls out a simple, by Capitol standards, fitted, midnight blue dress. I don't have time to really take in its details as she unties my robe and starts to slip it over my head. "I assumed that you had no idea how Peeta felt before he was selected for the Games."

"You're right," my reply is muffled by the fabric passing over my face. "I guess I just never thought that things were like that for him."

My mind is a flurry of confused thoughts. Are Portia's words true? If they are, was Peeta working an angle that early on in the Games? Or… or maybe it was never an angle at all. I'm stuck on this thought when I realize that Portia has asked me another question.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I ask, shaking my head a little from side to side.

She stands in front of me, her hands busy straightening the dress on my body. She doesn't look up to meet my eyes until after she speaks.

"I said were things like that for you?"

The arch of her light green eyebrow, along with the pointed look she's giving me, makes me uncomfortable. When I don't answer her immediately, she begins to smooth down my skirt with a slight smirk on her mouth.

I stand there in shock for a couple of minutes, letting this woman's open disapproval of me really sink in. As much as I try to stamp it down, I can feel my temper starting to flare. It's not until she grabs my hands to unclench my fists from the dress's fabric that I snap.

"Okay, that's it." I jerk my hands away from Portia's and my voice causes her head to snap up. "I know that you may think that you've gotten to know Peeta, and formed this real connection with him. And I can tell that you're feeling a little protective of him right now."

I take a deep breath and get even more irritated at the unrecognizable glint in her eye as she watches me. It only adds fuel to the fire as I continue.

"I'll tell you this right now; Peeta has been my best friend for years now. He literally saved not only me, but my entire family. So there is no one who is more protective of him than I am. Whatever other misconceptions you have about me don't matter, as long as you remember that."

The smile that starts to cover Portia's face baffles me. I'm about to continue my rant when she gently places a hand on my forearm. I stare at it, and then up at her face. Her eyes are soft as she lets me go to step out from between my body and the mirror.

"That sounds more like the girl that Peeta told everyone about." She pauses at the door before continuing down the hallway. Her hand on the doorframe is pale, causing the bright, fuchsia nails to really stand out. "I'm glad that I got to meet her."

******

Caesar Flickerman arrives at Peeta's house around noon. He looks so painfully out of place standing on the front porch with the backdrop of the dusty roads of District 12 behind him. I watch him from the window of my bedroom as the front door is opened and Peeta greets him. I can tell from here that his hair and lips are still dyed the same powder blue color as they were during the pre-Game televised segments.

I've been ordered to stay in my room until the time comes to join Peeta and Caesar during their interview. Something about the fact that it will have more of an impact if Peeta sees me all dressed up for the first time while the cameras are rolling.

Originally, I had scoffed at the idea of him seeing me in a dress with makeup on making any difference whatsoever. I realize, now that I've had some time to think, that they might just be right. I can remember the first time that Peeta ever saw me with my hair out of its usual style. It had gotten caught in a tree branch one afternoon, and I had set it free in order to get the leaves out before redoing the braid. I had almost finished fixing it before I realized that he had been staring at me the entire time, his mouth hanging slightly open.

I remember that as being the first time that I ever found myself blushing in his presence. Maybe this new look will have the same, desired effect that the stylists want.

I look at my reflection once more. I'm happy to find that even after what feels like hundreds of layers of makeup, I'm still able to recognize myself. I look different, though; more refined, more adult. My hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders, and I think of how I'm sure Peeta will like that.

The dress feels foreign and uncomfortable on my body despite its silky, soft material. The dark blue frock is sleeveless, with a fitted bodice. It is free from embellishments, which surprises me, and the skirt flares out just below my hips. It comes to an end mid-thigh with a hemline that seems to flutter around my legs as I walk. I would probably feel more at ease if it weren't quite as tight, and a few inches longer. I was told by Haymitch not to complain about anything done to me, though, so I've kept my mouth firmly shut.

I sit in my room for nearly a half an hour after Caesar arrives before I'm summoned down to join them. I'm more nervous than I was the first time that I held a bow in my hands as I walk down the stairs to the living room.

I can tell that I've come in perfectly on cue as I hear the question come from the famous interviewer.

"I'm sure that there have been a lot of changes in your day to day life since returning to District 12, Peeta. Care to share any of those with us?"

"You mean other than the fact that I can now attain the smell of roses using my own shower here at home, Caesar?" Peeta's good natured banter still amazes me.

"Ah, yes." Caesar laughs and claps Peeta on the back. "I thought that I smelled something floral in the air."

I pause halfway down the steps then, unsure of exactly how to make my entrance. My nerves cause me to unconsciously clear my throat. As usual, Peeta comes to my rescue by knowing exactly how to handle the situation.

Once he hears me, he turns his head toward the staircase and stills as soon as his eyes meet mine. Within seconds, he's up and waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, his eyes still trained on my own. I feel that weird, fluttering feeling in my stomach that I did last night, and my face breaks out into an undevised smile. Peeta grins back at me, and as soon as my feet hit the bottom step, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close.

When he brings his mouth down to meet mine, I forget for a moment that this is all for the cameras. My hands clench at the fabric of his steel grey dress shirt, causing it to bunch in my palms. While the kiss we shared last night was more…. passionate, this one is tender, and sweet. His lips are soft, but the grip he has on my waist is hard as he pulls me closer. I let myself fall against his chest, my palms now flat, and he pulls his face away from mine. My heart is beating fast, and I try to tell myself that it's just due to nerves.

I blink furiously as I feel my cheeks redden, knowing that this kiss has been caught on camera for all of Panem to see. I try to avert my eyes from Peeta's, not wanting to him recognize any hint of the inner turmoil I'm feeling, but he catches my chin and forces me to meet his gaze.

His face is nothing but sincere when he smiles at me. I smile back at him timidly and, remembering the cameras, reach up to brush his blonde curls from his eyes. He leans in once more, and places another soft, sweet kiss to my lips.

"You look beautiful," he whispers to me, and I don't realize until after we're seated on the couch, with Caesar sitting in an armchair across from us, that his words were said quietly, for only me to hear.

"Now Peeta, in our interview before the Games, you stated that you didn't have a girlfriend waiting back home, but there was someone very special to you. Now it doesn't take a genius to figure out exactly who you were talking about, does it?"

The smirk on Caesar's face is not mocking, but rather warm and friendly. He looks from Peeta to me, and I feel Peeta's arm wrap around my waist. He kisses my temple.

"I guess not, Caesar," he laughs softly. "This is Katniss."

Caesar reaches out to take my hand in his, bringing it to his mouth in order to place a kiss to the back of it. I momentarily wonder if there will be a faded, blue imprint of his lips once I pull it away. He smiles warmly at me and I dismiss the thought.

"Lovely to meet you, Katniss."

"It's wonderful to meet you, as well."

My hand immediately seeks out Peeta's, and I feel better as soon as he gives it a reassuring squeeze. I know that there is a lot riding on this interview, more so than the first, which seems to have taken place ages ago. I lean onto his shoulder, and gather my hair so that it lies over the side that's not pressed against him. I smile to myself as he leans in to press a quick kiss to my jawline.

"I have to ask, Katniss," Caesar's words bring my attention back to him. "When you were home, watching Peeta's interview with me before the Games, did you realize that he was talking about you?"

"Well, I certainly hoped that he was, Caesar." I try for what I hope is a light, girlish laugh. "Peeta is very well liked, though, so I'm sure there were a lot of girls out there wishing for the exact same thing."

"I'll agree with you there, darling." Caesar laughs heartily. "It seems that all of Panem has fallen in love with Peeta."

The sincerity in his voice sends a feeling of fear through me, but I can't quite put my finger on why. I swallow hard, and look to my side at Peeta. The slight quiver in my voice shocks me, as I speak without taking my eyes away from him.

"Well, Caesar, you can tell them all that they'll have to fight me for him."

******

Peeta's nightmares tonight are the worst that I've seen so far.

As nervous as we both are about how the interview will go over, we both knew that trying to fall asleep in separate beds would be pointless.

I wake, knowing that I can't have been asleep for that long. Peeta lays beside me, immediately alerting me to what's woken me up. His bangs are plastered to his forehead by a fine layer of sweat that's also soaking through his tank top. His limbs are thrashing around and have gotten tangled in the bedsheets.

I sit up immediately and am on my knees beside him. I've never had to wake him from a nightmare before, and find myself at a loss as to how to go about it. I tentatively reach out my hand to grab his upper arm, but his thrashing only gets worse as he pushes me away.

He starts to mutter, and at first it's so soft that I can barely hear him, but then his voice gets more strained and desperate. I hear as he calls Delly's name, followed by Rue's. He stills for a fraction of a second, and I can see all of his muscles tense before he starts to thrash even harder than before. His hands reach out just as my name falls from his lips.

"Peeta!" My sleep-ridden voice is thick and cracks half-way through the word. I lean over and grab his shoulders firmly. I repeat his name at least four times, maybe more. It's hard to keep track when my heart is pounding as hard as it is. When he finally opens his eyes, I release a shaky breath.

He sits up and his arms are instantly around me, pulling me across his lap, flush against his body. I'm thrown off balance, and his grip is so tight that it comes close to being uncomfortable, but I don't resist. I can tell that he needs reassurance that I'm here with him, so I run my hands up and down his back until I can feel him relax.

I pull back just enough to see his face, which is now covered in a mixture of sweat and tears. I wipe at his cheeks with my fingers, and push the hair off his forehead in an attempt to clean him up. He places a hand on each of my cheeks, and my movements halt at the fervency that's held in his eyes.

"It was just a nightmare, Peeta," I whisper finally. "You're okay. You're with me. You're home."

He lets out an unsteady breath, and his pupils shrink back down to their normal size, but he still doesn't let me go. If he didn't look so distraught, I would probably feel uncomfortable, embarrassed even, at the delicate position in which we're situated; me straddling his lap, our chests pressed tightly together, and faces only inches apart. However, I can't bring myself to feel anything but overwhelmingly protective of the boy in front of me that the Capitol has tried its best to ruin.

"I can't let them take you away from me, Katniss. They take so much, from so many… but… I won't let them take you away."

"I'm not going to let that happen."

He lays back against the pillows then, refusing to relinquish his hold on me. I settle my head on his chest and eventually fall into a fitful sleep, hoping, above all else, that I'll be able to keep my word.

******

I wait until after breakfast, when Peeta is painting in his studio, before I rush across the lawn to Haymitch's house. Prim opens the back door, and hugs me tightly once I'm inside. She immediately starts to ask how the interview last night went, but I shrug her off, promising her that I'll tell her all about it later.

"I need to talk to Haymitch."

Prim nods and tells me he's in the living room. I poke my head in, and find that he's already looking in my direction. He stands without me having to say a word and walks toward me. He then passes me, returning from the way I came, out his kitchen door. I don't have to ask where he's heading, and follow him to our spot just pass the borders of the manicured back lawns.

I barely give him time to turn around before I speak.

"You've got to find a way for me to join Peeta on the Victory Tour. I don't care what you have to do, just make it happen."


	7. Chapter 7

The past five months have moved by in a bit of a blur.

While we assumed the Capitol reporters and cameras would leave Peeta alone after the first month, or so, we quickly discovered that we were wrong. While he's no longer required to give interviews, the cameras do not relent, and the reporters still try their best to get a few words from what seems to be everyone's new favorite Victor. He is followed each morning as we make our way to the bakery in town, and then again in the afternoon as we walk back home.

We spend our evenings as cut off from the outside as possible. The weather has gotten colder, and most nights we all sit around the fire, making idle chit chat. I've started to work my way through the massive library of books that the Capitol furnished Peeta's house with. Peeta has taught Prim to play Chess and, surprisingly, Haymitch often helps her with her strategy.

They seem to have taken a liking to each other, Prim and Haymitch. I can't say that I was terribly supportive of their camaraderie at first, but over time, I've seen the effect she's had on his overall demeanor. He's not seen falling down drunk nearly as often. His scathing sarcasm is now reserved only for me.

The Hawthornes join us for dinner every Sunday night. At first, it was awkward, and everyone could tell that Gale didn't want to be here. He didn't want to see me, he didn't want to see Peeta, and he definitely didn't want to have his family be seen as a 'charity case' to everyone.

It took me finally snapping and yelling at him in the backyard, almost not caring who heard what I had to say, for him to stop being so damned stubborn. It was the first time that I ever really yelled at Gale. He's seen me angry plenty of times throughout the years, but he'd never been the source of that anger before. He stood there the entire time, not saying anything, and left without a word shortly after. Following their departure that night, I was actually worried if the Hawthornes would be making their appearances from there on out without him. The next Sunday, though, he was there and was without complaint the entire time.

Things have gotten easier between the two of us as time has passed. I wish that I could say that the tentative friendship that Peeta and Gale had built before the Games has re-emerged, but I would be lying.

To tell the truth, I've always been aware that their tolerance toward one another was really just to appease me. Other than me, they really have very little in common. I've gotten used to the way that they endure each other's company, though, even if it is just for my benefit. Even though I know why Gale feels certain resentment toward Peeta, I wish that he could understand that all Peeta cares about is everyone's safety. I wish that I could explain just what Peeta is going through, but I can't understand it completely myself.

So tonight, as the Hawthornes, my family, Haymitch, Peeta, and I are settling into seats in the living room, it's to my left that Gale sits. Peeta is on my right, and I can't help but feel the tension around me. The television is turned to a news station and Haymitch stands abruptly to grab the remote control when he recognizes Effie's face on the screen. He turns the volume up.

"Yes, of course. It seems that everyone has just fallen in love with our Peeta!" Her ridiculous laugh matches her equally ridiculous accent. "I will tell you all firsthand, though, I've gotten just as many letters stating how much people love seeing him happy with his darling Katniss! So much so that they're asking if she'll be joining him on his Victory Tour that starts later this month!"

The interviewer, a lavender haired man that I don't recognize, leans forward to ask another question.

"That's never been done before, has it, Miss Trinket?"

"Well, no." Effie pauses and I swear I can hear my own heart beating in my ears. "There's a first time for everything, though! I know that I'd just love it! Wouldn't all of you just love it?"

The camera pans to a studio audience that I hadn't been aware existed, showing the entire room standing up, clapping and yelling in agreement. I look over at Haymitch and the smirk on his face tells me what I need to know.

I hear Peeta exhale slowly beside me, and my hand reaches out for his on reflex. I don't even realize what I've done until I feel Gale shift on the cushion to my other side. I look over at him to find his eyes fixed on my hand in Peeta's. He glares at me then, and my mouth falls open to say something, but no words come out.

When he stands, I drop Peeta's hand and stand with him. I grab him by the elbow and lead him out the back door, out to the spot where I know it's safe to talk. Once we reach the tree line, I spin around on my heel and return the glare that he was giving me inside.

"What do you want me to tell you, Gale?" My voice is harsh. I push the strands of hair that have fallen out of my braid behind my ear forcefully.

"What I want for you to tell me is the truth, Katniss."

I don't overlook the fact that he's using my actual name. There's a look of hurt in his eyes, and I wish that I could fully comprehend the reason it's there.

"I've told you the truth. In fact, I've told you the truth several times now. I don't understand why you make me feel the need to justify every single one of my actions!"

"Maybe because I'm the only one of us that can tell it's not really an act."

"What? You mean the fact that I love Peeta? No, it's not an act. I do love him!" I'm shocked by how easy this is to say, but it's true. How could anyone not love him? Hadn't Effie Trinket just stated on national television that the entire country loved him? "But I love you, too, Gale! But do you think for a second that Peeta makes me explain to him how important it is to me that you're here, at his house every Sunday night? Or why I can barely stand not being out in the woods with you, hunting?"

I'm breathing hard and shift my glare down to our feet. We're standing close and his boot, a few inches from my shoe, disrupts the ground beneath it with a sharp kick. His next words force my eyes upward.

"Yeah, well it must be easy for him with you being in his bed every night."

His words are cold and meant to be hurtful. They have their desired effect on me as I stumble back from him. I know there is nothing I can say right now that won't just make the situation worse. Normally, I would put my foot in my mouth anyway, damn the consequences, but Gale doesn't give me the opportunity to form a reply.

"That's what I thought."

He walks by me quickly, and I watch as he re-enters the house through the back door. I'm still staring a minute later when I hear the front door slam loudly.

I'm still standing in the exact same spot when Peeta makes his way down the steps and across the lawn a few minutes later. It's not until my view of him becomes skewed that I realize there are tears in my eyes. He reaches to pull me into an embrace, but I find myself pushing past him and running into the house.

I lie in my own bed that night, alone. I don't get a wink of sleep.

******

A week has gone by since Gale stalked off into the night. I've been acting like the moody, sullen teenager that I've never had the opportunity to really be. I hate myself for it. I just can't seem to snap out of it, though.

We're sitting around the dinner table, the Hawthorne's notably absent, when the telephone rings. Haymitch stands immediately, earning a confused look from Peeta. He waves him off without a response, and moves to the living room to answer the call.

I catch Peeta's eyes from my spot across the table and can instantly tell how badly he wants to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place in the other room. The hopeful gleam in his eyes makes my heart clench. A lead ball of guilt forms in my stomach over how much of a brat I've been this week. I know that I haven't been easy to live with.

I get up slowly and, for the first time without the cameras rolling this week, take his hand in mine. I pull him from his chair and we move closer to the door that leads out into the room Haymitch currently inhabits. We stand with our ears to the door for only a few seconds before we realize that our efforts are futile. With Haymitch's gruff, mumbled voice, it's impossible to make out anything that he's saying.

Peeta shrugs and starts to move back to his chair. I grip his hand a little tighter though, causing him to pause. He looks at my face and that ball of guilt from earlier grows in size. The dark circles are back underneath his eyes, and his posture is more drooped than usual.

"Peeta, I…," my voice trails off, and I swallow.

He squeezes my hand and brings his other up to rest on my shoulder. He smiles softly.

"It's okay. I understand."

Leave it to Peeta to make me feel like even more of a jerk by being so understanding about my mood swings. Before I have a chance to thank him, the door swings open on us. We're almost knocked over by Haymitch as he makes his way back into the kitchen. We stumble backward, grasping each other's arms to keep from tipping over.

He stops halfway through the door and lets out a short, gruff laugh before walking around us and taking his place at the table once again. He immediately resumes eating, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth, and not looking up again until finally realizing that Peeta and I are still standing there, gaping at him.

"Well, don't just stand there. Sit down so we can talk."

I just barely stop myself from rolling my eyes at him as I take a seat, this time beside Peeta. Prim smiles at me as she moves my plate from my previous spot. I take it from her, depositing it on the placemat in front of me.

Peeta shifts in his chair beside me. I can tell that he knows that whatever news Haymitch is about to share will affect us greatly. The leg closest to me, his real leg, starts to bounce up and down nervously. I place my hand on his thigh and I feel his movements subside. He places his open palm over it, and leans his shoulder over to bump mine.

I hear a cough from my right and look over to see Prim with one eyebrow raised. I swat her shoulder playfully, and turn to look back at Haymitch.

"So," he starts, pausing to take a long gulp from the glass in front of him. "Looks like Effie actually proved useful for once."

"Does that mean…?" Peeta's voice is shaking a little.

"That means her little stunt with that interview is going to pay off. Katniss is joining you on the tour."

Peeta's chair is immediately pushed back, the loud scraping noise tearing through the room. He's pulling me to my feet before I know what's happening, and wraps his arms around my waist. I have just enough time to mouth a 'thank you' to Haymitch before my feet are lifted from the floor and I have to lock my hands behind Peeta's neck in order to keep myself stable.

The older man pulls a face and dismisses my gratitude with a wave of his hand. He may be brushing me off now, but I know that he had a hand in making this happen.

******

It's the last day before we leave for the Victory Tour. This is the third Sunday since I last saw Gale. I wake up earlier than I have in a while; well before the sun is up. I look to my left to see that the spot Peeta had occupied when I'd fallen asleep the night before is now empty.

I sit up straight and listen intently for a moment. I hear movement coming from the studio down the hallway and let out the breath I've been holding. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and quietly creep across the hallway into my own bedroom.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I quickly pull on some clothes, followed by my hunting boots. I make a quick trip to the bathroom, and then creep down the stairs. Cautiously, I check through the curtains of the living room to make sure that no one is milling around outside before soundlessly exiting the house through the front door.

I'm moving at a brisk pace across the lawn and out of the Victors' Village. Once I hit the main road, I find myself running swiftly down the familiar path that leads toward the Seam. I pass a few men on their way to work in the mines, but know that Gale always has Sundays off. Luckily, they don't give me a second glance and I continue my way to the opening in the fence without running across anyone else.

I'm not quite sure why I feel the overwhelming need to speak with Gale this morning. Truth be told, I'm still angry with him. All I know is that I can't leave tomorrow on this tour without at least trying to somehow make amends.

By the time that I slip underneath the fence there is a smile on my face as I think back to the first time I attempted to teach him how to use a bow.

******

After almost an entire year of hunting together, Gale had finally worked up the nerve to ask me to show him how to shoot.

As much as I had wanted to, I didn't laugh at the embarrassing way that the words he spoke ran together quickly, or how his voice dipped lower on the word 'please'. Instead, I just shrugged my shoulders and told him that if he didn't mind being taught by a girl, then I didn't mind doing the teaching. He threw his still empty game bag at me after that, and we both started to laugh.

At the end of the day, he was sporting plenty of bruises and a pretty nasty string burn on the inside of his forearm from lacking any sort of arm guard. It had taken two hours for him to get an arrow to even stick in anything, and four in order for him to hit a spot close to the center of the small target I had put together.

"Thanks, Catnip."

Gale had thrown his arm around me then, taking my game bag from my hands to carry it for me. His arm was heavy on my shoulders, but I didn't let him know that. Other than him offering me a hand to help me up occasionally, that was the first time Gale and I had touched each other in such a casual manner.

It felt good. It felt natural. It felt like we had finally come to a point where we could trust each other implicitly.

******

As I finally near the thicket of berry bushes that protects our normal meeting spot from unwanted eyes, the morning sun is just starting to peek through the trees. I spot his familiar form hunched over, sitting on the rock ledge that overlooks the valley. His back is to me, but I can tell the exact second that he senses my presence.

He turns, bringing his bow up as he does so. The bow drops to the forest floor as soon as he spots me and he then stands.

I take a step forward, feeling suddenly very foolish for coming here without a clear-cut plan in mind. He doesn't make a move to come closer, instead stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. We stand there, surveying each other in silence for a moment.

His hair has grown out since the last time that I saw him, now almost touching his shoulders. A bit of it is falling into his eyes, but he doesn't attempt to push it out of the way, intent on keeping his hands firmly in his pockets.

I finally open my mouth.

"I can't stay."

Immediately, I regret my choice of words as his face hardens and he pulls his hands out. He reaches down for the fallen bow, and grabs his empty game bag from the rock he was sitting on before. He looks back up at me and the scowl on his face speaks volumes. I can tell he's about to stalk off, and I can't let him do that.

"Gale, I came to talk to you… I miss you."

His face softens slightly and he lets the bag fall from his hand. He places the bow on the ground, and then lowers himself to sit back down on the rock. He nods his head toward me, indicating that I should join him. I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I was holding, and move toward him, across the clearing.

"You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?"

His voice is low and gruff, showing that he probably hasn't spoken any other words since waking this morning. I've missed the sound of it.

"How'd you know?"

"Prim told Rory."

I nod, keeping my eyes trained on the valley in front of us. I know that I can't stay much longer at all if I want to try and get back before anyone notices my absence. I turn toward him and he does the same. His grey eyes, so similar to my own, are trained on my face.

"You really hurt my feelings, Gale… with, with what you said."

The words sound silly coming from my mouth. Gale and I don't talk about feelings, and my face flushes with embarrassment. He actually lets out a laugh, though. I wish I could say that I join in, but the sound of his laughter is not light, or joking. It's sarcastic and mean.

"Oh, really? I hurt your feelings?"

I'm taken aback by his tone, and physically recoil at the venom in his voice. It only takes a second for the irritation I felt when speaking to him a few weeks ago to return. I back away from him a little, and try not to let my voice shake in anger when I speak.

"Yeah, well you do realize that you essentially called me a slut, right?" I pause when he starts to open his mouth, putting my hand up to stop him. "You know me better than that. You know that I would… I would never…"

"That's the thing, Catnip," Gale starts, taking my hand into his. I'm confused. How can he go from insulting me one minute, to holding my hand the next? I know that I shouldn't, but I can't stop my mind from making comparisons between the feel of his hand and the feel of Peeta's. His hand is larger, and while Peeta's hands have their own fair share of them, Gale's are more calloused. His hold is just a little too tight, but I can't be sure if that's because he doesn't want me to pull away from him, or not. "Since he came home, I feel like I don't know you at all anymore…"

His voice trails off then. Gale's never been especially good with words, another attribute that my mind unconsciously compares to Peeta, and I know that this must be hard for him. Without replying, I wait for him to continue.

"I mean, the morning after he comes home, I drop by your house just to find out that you're not even living there anymore! The next time I see you, you're on television during that stupid interview and you're playing Suzy Homemaker, bringing out baked goods, acting nothing like yourself."

"Gale, you know that I had to keep up that act! I've explained this to you."

His grip on my hand tightens and I try my best to ignore the fact that it's starting to hurt.

"How much of it is really an act, though?" His voice has lost its intensity, and makes my throat dry. "I mean, I've seen you guys together, without the cameras, Katniss. You're different around him now. You're different around me now."

"I'm different around him because he's different now, Gale. He needs someone right now. You have no idea what they did to him… How.. how they've made him believe that he's a monster. If he needs me in order for him realize that he's not one… Well, then I have to be there."

"He could get someone else to be there! What about his dad? His brothers? Any of those townie friends of his, huh? Where are they in all of this?"

I stand up and try to shake my hand out of his, but his grip only tightens. I'm so angry that I almost can't see straight. He stands with me, and moves close. My voice comes out in a strained hiss.

"Who are you to dictate what's best for him? What's best for me?"

"Who is he to take you away from me?"

Gale's words cause me to still instantly, and this second of hesitation is all that he needs.

It's fast, and I don't expect it at all when he pulls my body closer to his own. I bring my hands up in front of me, briefly happy that his hold on my hand has been relinquished, and press them to his chest to stop myself from stumbling. His mouth descends on mine before I can understand what's really happening.

His lips are warm against my own, and I can vaguely detect the scent of oranges coming from his skin. Other than these two things, I'm unable to really take in anything else. Shock has truly taken over my body and when he pulls away, I'm sure that it shows across my features. I take a step back and choose to ignore the rejected look on his face.

His voice drops to a whisper, and my mouth falls open at his words.

"Katniss,… I love you."

I drop my eyes from his and reply to his declaration in the worst way possible.

"I know."

I hear the crunch of leaves underneath his boots. By the time I look up, he's already moving farther into the forest, his bow and game bag slung up over his shoulder.

I watch his retreating form until it disappears from sight completely. He never looks back.

******

I make it back to the Victors' Village before any of the reporters arrive to claim their stake out spots for the day, as well as before the lights in most of the houses I pass are turned on. I don't make it back before he realizes that I'm gone, however.

As soon as I round the bend leading up to Peeta's house, I hear him yelling my name as he spots me. I look up to see him crossing his front lawn as fast as he possibly can. The wild look in his eyes, along with the too-fast rise and fall of his chest, causes an intense feeling of shame to wash over me. I pick up my pace and run the last few yards to meet him.

He runs his hands up and down the length of my arms. While his hands perform the physical portion, his eyes are conducting a visual inspection of my current state. I grab his hands as they move to my wrists and get him to look me in the eye.

"Peeta, I'm okay."

"What the hell, Katniss?"

I would normally be alarmed at the harshness I hear in his voice, but I know that I deserve it right now. Immediately, my eyes begin to water, partly due to the shock I still feel at Gale's actions, but mostly because of the anger I feel at myself. That anger only grows as soon as I feel the tears start to streak down my face and into the corners of my mouth.

I fall against Peeta and feel even more guilt when his arms immediately come up to embrace me.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Peeta."

He wordlessly leads me into the house and closes the door behind us. I sit on the couch, sniffing pitifully, as he moves across the room to stoke the fire. Not able to sit still quite yet, I move to the window where I see that snow is just beginning to fall.

When I finally turn to face him, I can tell from the way he takes in my attire, his eyes pausing briefly on my hunting boots, that he knows that I went to see Gale this morning. He merely comes to stand beside me at the window, plucking a twig from my braid. We watch the snow fall until my stomach rumbles embarrassingly.

He walks into the kitchen, me following closely behind. He offers me a plate filled with the breakfast that he had obviously made for me earlier, before realizing that I wasn't waiting upstairs. I eat it gratefully. We spend the day huddled around the fireplace; Peeta sketching in the notepad on his lap while I pretend to read the novel that's propped up on my knees.

Peeta never asks about what happened in the woods this morning.

As we lie in bed, I find myself turning to face his back and wrap my arms around his midsection. In this moment, I am more than aware that I do not deserve his love, fabricated or not, but from here on out, I'm going to try my damnedest to be worthy.


	8. Chapter 8

I've been given my own sleeping compartment on the train that will take Peeta on his tour throughout the districts. If I hadn't spent the last six months getting used to his new home, this would, by far, be the most luxurious setting I've ever been in.

I'm seated on the edge of the pillowy soft bed when Peeta enters through the open doorway. We only left District 12 a few moments ago, each of us having immediately been ushered to our different rooms, but I still find that relief consumes me now that I can see him again. Despite Haymitch's rundown of what he remembers from his own Victory Tour, we really have no idea what's in store for us over the next couple of weeks.

He moves to sit on the bed next to me, and I lean onto his shoulder. The train rounding a curve at this precise moment causes me to fall forward, my head slipping from its perch. Peeta catches me, my torso now suspended precariously above his lap. He chuckles and tightens his grip into an awkward hug. A train attendant passes by the door just as he leans down to place a quick kiss on my forehead, and I think that I actually see her sigh before she moves on.

"The movements of the train take some getting used to, but, hey. If a gimp like me can get around, then you, with your superior balance, we'll be just fine."

I pull myself away and just barely place a slap on his arm.

"Don't call yourself that."

He ignores my words and stands. I watch as he surveys the room, walking into the attached bathroom, and then back out. He picks up my bags that I've yet to touch, and jerks his head toward the door in a motion that tells me to follow him. My brow furrows, but he offers no explanation.

I follow him down the corridor, tentatively keeping my hands out to the sides in case I have to grab onto the walls. I'm unsure on my feet, but by the time we reach our destination, almost at the complete opposite end of the train, I find that I'm already more confident in my movements. I make my way through the doorway that Peeta disappeared into seconds before just in time to see him depositing my bag on the floor beside his own.

Once he turns to face me, I understand that us sleeping in different rooms, at separate ends of the train is not an option for him. I don't disagree.

"Unless you'd rather not…?"

I don't answer verbally, and instead move to stand beside him. Bending down, I unzip the bag with a flourish and proceed to unpack my things, stuffing them into the drawers of a nearby dresser. I can almost hear the smile on his face as he lets out a short laugh and starts to do the same with his own belongings.

It's a few hours later when we hear the loud clicking of Effie Trinket's heels making her way down the hallway. I'm still unsure of the idea of having to spend the next two weeks with her constant company, but Peeta insists that she's more tolerable as time passes.

"Peeta! Do you have any idea where Katniss is? I went to fetch her for dinner, but her room was emp… Oh!"

Her mouth forms a perfect round ring, its gold lipstick making it shine brightly. She stands in the doorway, her eyes wide. I would laugh if I didn't feel some sort of gratitude toward her for helping ensure my place on this tour. I'll be sure to allot time for making fun of her when we're not in the same room. I suppose I do owe her that much.

"Yep," Peeta says, popping the 'p' at the end of the word as he lifts himself off the bed. He turns to offer me his hand, and I take it without question. "Lead the way, Effie."

******

After more than several, not so subtle, hints from Effie that Peeta and I sharing a room isn't exactly proper, he finally lets her know exactly how this trip is going to be.

"Effie, no offense, but if you've been through what I've been through, the necessity of something being proper kind of loses its appeal. It's more about what you need, what you want, and what's the most important to you. If Katniss sleeping my bed is not 'proper', then you'll just have to excuse our manners, and get over it."

With that, Peeta closes the door, politely. Well, as politely as you can when someone's face is on the other side of it. It takes a full thirty seconds before we hear the racket that her heels make as she walks away, and I only wish that I could have seen the, no doubt, shocked look on her face at his words.

I turn to face him, and wave my finger in the air in a mocking scold.

"Now, now. That was certainly not the manner in which a Victor should behave."

"Yeah, well I'll apologize to her in the morning."

He waves me off as he gathers his nightclothes, moving toward the bathroom door. Once he returns, I do the same, and then crawl into the bed beside him. It's smaller than the one back in District 12, and my leg lays flat against his.

He leans over the side of the bed to flip the light switch and the room is instantly plunged into complete darkness. We're currently traveling through a thick forest that effectively blocks out all light from the moon outside. When he tries to settle back into his previous position, he misjudges our proximity and flops his hand down unceremoniously, high onto my thigh. His shoulder and arm cover mine, and in the dark I know he has no idea of the precise placement of his hand. Every inch of my skin that touches his feels like it's on fire.

His hand tenses, and I can tell that he's now aware of its exact position. I don't say anything, all too aware that this train is not unlike his home in the Victors' Village, with its hidden recording devices. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. There may be a small part of me that likes the way that this feels, but I push that thought from my mind quickly.

We lie there in the dark for a while, neither of us moving, or saying a word. The gentle rocking of the train is unable to lull us to sleep. When I finally speak, I can tell that Peeta has assumed that I had fallen asleep. His grip on my thigh tightens, and he pulls his hand away as if it's been set ablaze. I ignore the way my skin feels colder without his touch, and roll over onto my side to face him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

His voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper, really. He moves himself into a position that mirrors mine. My eyes have adjusted to the dark of the room by now, and I can just scarcely make out the worry lines that are residing on his forehead. Bringing my hand up, I brush his hair back from his face and smooth them away the best I can.

"Are you going to be okay?"

There is a second of hesitation before he answers. District 11 is the first stop on the tour, and we'll be there by morning. Knowing that there's no need, he decides not to lie to me.

"Probably not."

His intake of breath is shaky, and he starts to roll over onto his back once again so that he can face away from me. I put my hand out to stop him, though, trying my best to convey to him that it's okay to be upset; it's okay to break down.

He's been to unbelievably calm over the last few months, even when the nightmares have plagued him and he's waken up in pools of sweat after practically screaming her name. He doesn't talk about the dreams anymore; says he'd rather not have to relive them by divulging the gory details while awake. I always let it slide; allowing him to cling to me until his muscles have relaxed and his breathing is back to normal.

This time, though, I know that he needs to talk about it. He needs to understand that he doesn't have to strong in front of me.

I manage to pull him back to where he's lying on his side, and move closer. I wrap my arm around him in an awkward hug. My mouth is right beside his ear, and my lips brush slightly over it as I whisper to him.

"It's okay if you're not okay."

All I feel is the slight tremble of the muscles in his shoulders before I'm enveloped in a crushing embrace. Peeta's movements cause my back to press against the wall that borders my side of the bed. This limits any room I have for movement, but I don't care, so I don't say anything.

"I don't know how I'm going to do it, Katniss." His voice breaks a little, and I can hear the tears in it seconds before I feel them hit my cheek that's crushed against his. "How can I face her family?"

I understand now, as he finally breaks down in my arms, that to Peeta, he didn't survive the Hunger Games without a single kill weighing on his conscience. He holds himself responsible for the death of that little girl. Rue haunts his dreams because he couldn't save her.

"You can face her family knowing that you did everything you could to help her. You can face them knowing that you gave her your friendship, which I happen to know firsthand," my voice shakes a little and I have to pause before I can continue. "Which I happen to know firsthand is one of the greatest things there is."

I tighten my arms around his waist, moving to hold him even closer. His left leg situates itself in between both of mine. Trying to free up some room, I hitch my right one up and over the cool, plastic, hooking my foot behind the knee of the prosthesis.

Feeling tears from my own eyes mingling with his where our cheeks are pressed against each other, I pull my face back slightly. A break in the trees passing outside the window allows the moonlight to shine on Peeta's face for a split second, and the pain that I see in his eyes breaks my heart.

I lean forward then, kissing his tear-stained cheek softly; once, twice, three times. Each brush of my lips brings them slightly closer to his own. My mind is a mess of confused thoughts that I choose to ignore. I don't know why I do it, and it's as if I'm floating above my body, looking down at us as my mouth touches the corner of his. I don't hesitate as my lips find Peeta's, offering him the only form of consolation that I find appropriate. He responds slowly, and I can feel his fingers press harder into the small of my back.

This kiss, only the second that we've shared to be unseen by cameras, is not passionate like the first was. It's instead, slow and steady, and more of a promise between the two of us. It's a promise that, no matter what, he can always count on me to be there for him when times are at their most bleak.

When we pull away, Peeta places a soft kiss on my jaw. I offer a smile that I hope he can see despite the room's lack of light. And before too much longer, we're both fast asleep.

******

When we departed the train in District 11 this morning, no one, save for Effie, was surprised at the lack of cameras there to greet us. We've all watched the televised tours for years, and it is common knowledge that the higher numbered districts fail to receive the same coverage, or enthusiasm, that's reserved for those nearer to the Capitol. While Effie stuck up her nose at the armored truck that we were ushered into straight from the train platform, Peeta and Haymitch had shared a look of relief at the added measure of security.

I'm not so naïve as to think that the people of this district care about the relationship between Peeta and me. Yes, I am aware that we need to be seen together, but didn't think for a second that I would be front and center with him during each moment. So I'm not surprised when Haymitch informs me that I'll be hanging back with him during Peeta's initial speech in front District 11's residents.

We're standing off to the side, in the shade of the verandah, half-listening as the Mayor gives a speech in his honor, waiting for Peeta's time in front of everyone to arrive. His leg is bothering him again. Most likely, this is due to all of the pacing he's been doing since waking up this morning. I reach down to take hold of, and loosen, the fists that are clenched at his sides.

"Look at me," I command, my voice coming out much stronger than I thought it could. His blue eyes meet mine, and I hold their gaze for a moment. "You can do this. I know you can."

I rock up on my toes to kiss his cheek and he offers me a half smile in return. The sound of applause coming from the crowd signals to us that his presence is being called for. He takes my hand, giving it a final squeeze, and doesn't let go until he is farther away than his arm can reach.

I join in the clapping, and then turn to see Cloud and Matisse, two members of Peeta's prep team, watching me intently. One leans into the other to whisper in their ear, the other's face turning a light of pink. As one of them, I can never remember which is which, begins to approach me, I'm suddenly happier than usual to see Haymitch coming toward me. I close the distance between the two of us quickly. When he raises an eyebrow, I don't acknowledge it, and we move closer to get a better view of what's happening on the verandah.

My forehead is creased and I'm leaning forward, eager to catch every word that's coming out of Peeta's mouth. Haymitch places an old, weathered hand on my forearm to grab my attention.

"As long as he sticks to the script, he'll be fine, sweetheart."

I nod, and then turn back to face the spot where Peeta stands. Haymitch wraps his hand around to the back of my wrist and forms a 45* angle with his elbow, essentially offering me his arm. I try not to look too shocked at this act of kindness, and even find myself accepting it. He may be an old, drunk, irritable man, but he's managed to bring Peeta home to me and show my family a kindness I would have never expected of him before all of this.

We watch the rest of the speech in silence until the scripted lines run out, and Peeta continues to speak.

I feel Haymitch stiffen beside me. He pulls his arm away from mine as he starts to mutter to himself. I try to catch what he's saying, but his words are so low that I can't hear. I watch as he disappears through the door that I know Effie, and Peeta's prep team are waiting behind. His reaction confuses me. From what I can hear, now that my attention is back on Peeta and not focused on his mentor's spastic movements, he's addressing the fallen tributes' families directly.

"I know that it can, in no way, replace your losses, but as a token of my thanks I'd like for each of the tributes' families from District 11 to receive one month of my winnings every year for the duration of my life."

My eyes widen when I realize the enormity of his offering. I don't even know if it's legal, and Peeta probably doesn't know, either. This must be what has Haymitch is such a state. I look back over my shoulder to where he disappeared, and I must wonder exactly what repercussions Peeta's actions will have.

He's not finished, though. I see him turn his body to address the grouping of two people nearest the left of the stage.

I see an older, hunched woman standing beside a muscular young girl, and know that they must be Thresh's family. I remember the feeling of fear that had gone through me at the sight of the massive boy when the reapings were recapped on television the night that Peeta left for the Games. Even in his interview with Caesar, he gave off an air of pure power without having to say more than a handful of words. A wave of guilt runs through me as I also recall the relief that I felt at seeing him die at the hands of the boy from District 2, knowing that Peeta would never have to cross him.

"I didn't know Thresh," Peeta says, his eyes directed at the dead boy's family. "But I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers approached both of us at the same time, wanting us to team up with them. It was his 'no' that helped prompt my own, and I respected him for that."

My ears perk up at this bit of information. I had not been aware of that.

Knowing Peeta the way that I do, I'm sure that he would have said 'no' to them regardless of what Thresh's answer had been, but this small untruth does not make his observation of the boy's character any less sincere. I notice a trace of a smile on the lips of the older woman and hope that Peeta sees it as well.

He turns to face Rue's family then. Her parents and five younger siblings, all bearing such a striking resemblance to her, look up at him with their eyes still fresh with sorrow. I note the way that his hands begin to clench again, and he flexes his fingers a little before his eyes flicker to the side to look at me. I nod my head, keeping my gaze steady, and he turns back to face them.

"Rue, however, I feel as if I did know. She will always be with me, and I will always consider her to have been a dear, dear friend. Everything beautiful, and happy, and kind brings her to mind. I wish that I could have done more for her. I wish that I could have saved her." His voice, usually so dependable when under pressure, breaks on the last word. He swallows hard. "Thank you for your children."

The crowd gathered in the square fall silent then, and I can tell that Peeta is wondering whether or not his words have had their desired effect.

Then I hear it. The four-note melody of Rue's mockingjay tune. The one that she'd explained to him had signaled the end of the work day in the orchards here. The one that she and Peeta had used to signify safety while separated in the arena. I remember watching with amusement when she'd first had to teach him how to whistle at all before moving on to the simple melody.

It comes from an old man near the back of the group. He wears a faded red shirt with overalls, and his eyes meet with Peeta's as he whistles it back. A slow, sad smile stretches across both of the whistlers' faces, and the audible 'click' of Peeta's microphone being turned off is heard. The Mayor takes over; Peeta acknowledges the final round of applause, and quickly walks off the stage.

I throw my arms around him as soon as he's close enough and he returns the embrace tightly. Without a word, we lock hands and begin our walk to the doors of the Justice Building. We only get a few feet before hearing a soft 'clink' on the marble tiles and stop. Apparently, our hug loosened the clasp of my mockingjay pin. Peeta bends down to pick it up for me.

If it weren't for this, we would be safe behind the doors of the Justice Building by now. Instead, we are not, and bear witness to the whole thing.

A pair of peacekeepers dragging the old man who whistled to the top of the stairs, where Peeta had stood only a moment before. Them forcing him to his knees. And then putting a bullet into his head.

******

Haymitch has told us that there's talk of unrest in the districts. He says that there's a rebellion brewing, and it would be brewing regardless of Peeta's actions in the arena; the berries, the way he didn't let the Capitol change who he is. He says that people were just waiting for an excuse.

I've never seen Peeta as angry as he was when all of this was revealed. He actually went as far as breaking a lamp, that Haymitch was quite lucky wasn't his face. His anger at his mentor is not without reason.

"You knew all of this! You knew all of this, Haymitch, and you let me go out there and just make it worse!" His screams of betrayal had eventually made his throat raw, and these sentences had come out in broken whispers. Knowing that there was nothing I could do, I held back, letting him work through his ire on his own.

"You're always so reliably good, Peeta. So smart about how you present yourself in front of the cameras. I didn't want to disrupt that."

Peeta had sent something else in the room flying from its place. In all of the years I've known him, I'd never seen him like this. With the exception of the time that Harden Turner, a boy in Prim's grade at school, pushed her into a mud puddle at recess, I've never even heard him scream at anyone in anger before.

Like it, or not, once Peeta had calmed down significantly, we had a dinner to attend in his honor.

We are back on the train now. Peeta's showering as I lie on the still-made bed. I would have never in a million years thought that having my best friend come home to me from the Games would result in this much pain and torture for him.

I have to wonder if it's worth it to Peeta. I wonder if being here now, knowing that his family is waiting back home for him, knowing that I'm here for him no matter what, knowing that he'll never have to live in poverty again, is really worth living through the horrors of the Games. If it's worth witnessing what we did tonight.

When he steps back into the room, a towel draped around his shoulders, his hair hanging, wet in his eyes, and offers me a small, tired smile, I decide that, for now, I won't think about it. For now, I'll just be selfish and glad that he's made it back to me.


	9. Chapter 9

It's not until we're nearing the Capitol, almost at its borders, really, that Peeta decides to finally share his paintings with me.

After what happened in District 11, he has stuck to the script when giving his speeches. He has been careful not to toe the line of what's expected of him. It has been a flurry of dinners and parties held in his honor. We've pretended to be interested in conversations with the higher ups of each district. We've danced. We've kissed for the cameras. We've been caught trying to sneak off to have time alone.

Maybe it is because of those light, lively, fabricated moments that I feel as if my heart has dropped to the floor as soon as the door of the compartment that houses his paintings opens.

I understand immediately why he's kept them hidden from me. As someone who did not experience the Games first hand, the vivid, precise brushstrokes on the canvases before me paint a much better picture of what it must have been like to actually be inside of the arena.

There is a canvas still propped up on the easel in the corner of the room that my eyes are immediately drawn to. I recognize the old man, lips pursed, mid-whistle. Peeta has managed to capture the faded red of his shirt perfectly, in addition to the kindness in his eyes.

We haven't talked about it; not really. Neither of us being a stranger to nightmares, it's easy to just pretend that it isn't the image of this man's final moments that's just ripped us from our slumber. I think that Peeta knows, though. His hold on me is always tighter after this nightmare. It takes both of longer to fall back asleep, too.

I remember, for a moment, the tiny sketches that always filled the margins of Peeta's school papers; trees, flowers that grew in the meadow near my house, the profile of whoever sat next to him in that particular class. The compositions in this train car are nothing like those. They are dark and desperate. They evoke nothing but feelings of hopelessness and pain.

I almost feel ashamed of myself when I have to tear my eyes away. Peeta has lived through all of these horrors firsthand, and I can barely stand to look at paintings of them.

"I know." His voice comes from behind me, and I realize that I had forgotten that he was here for a second. "I hate them, too."

He doesn't want my pity. He doesn't want to hear me say how good they are, or anything complimenting his work. I remain silent as he stands beside me. After a few moments, he exhales loudly, and walks farther into the compartment. I watch as he pulls several canvases out from behind a painting that I recognize to be the cornucopia, the ground around it stained red with blood.

"I can't show those. Too… real, I guess. They don't want to see what it's really like in there. Portia convinced me to bring them." He surveys the picture in his hands, the multi-colored hues fading across the large square. "Sunsets and rainbows it is."

He goes to leave the room, and I place a hand on his arm as he passes me.

"They really are awful, Peeta… but we both know that's not your fault."

******

The Capitol is a foreign, awkward, terrifying place.

The party at President Snow's mansion is in full swing, and Peeta has been in constant demand since we arrived. I've tried my best to stay close, but it's gotten harder as the night has gone on. As soon as the meal, which I considered to be more of a feast than anything else, was finished, he was immediately pulled from my side to 'mingle' with the citizens that the Capitol deemed important enough to warrant an invitation tonight.

The band is just starting to play, and I look over to where he currently stands, flanked by a Capitol couple, and far too close to where the President stands for my liking. Peeta's hands are clasped in front of him, and the smile on his face is polite, but doesn't quite reach his eyes.

The man, almost freakishly tall, with slightly hunched shoulders and a slight paunch stands on his right. His lime green hair, combed back from his face, is slick with gel. I note that his eyebrows have been dyed to match, and shiver as I watch one of them rise in appraisal of the young victor beside him. The woman is no better. Obviously much older than the man I assume to be her husband; she is petite in every sense of the word. Her startling white hair is the opposite of his, puffed and teased away from her scalp in all directions. I can almost feel Peeta repress a shudder as she places a hand on his arm.

I don't like the look, or feel, of them at all.

My feet start to unconsciously move in their direction when a hand takes hold of my arm. I look over to find Haymitch at my side, shaking his head almost imperceptibly from side to side. I'm getting ready to question him when an announcement introducing the first dance rings out over the huge banquet hall.

My breathing starts to slow to a more normal rate and relief floods my senses as I notice Peeta approaching me quickly. His hand immediately seeks mine out, and I run my thumb over the outside of his. Understanding my silent question, he nods his head, letting me know that he's okay.

We move together to the dance floor, a darkly colored, circular, wooden platform that has been raised from the rest of the room. It is large enough to handle at least fifty couples, but we know that this first dance will be for the victor and his partner alone. We climb the stairs hand in hand and walk to the very center. He places a hand on the small of back and brings me close as the music starts.

Our bodies move perfectly in sync with one another's now as opposed to the awkward dance lessons Effie attempted on the train near the beginning of the tour. The moves come naturally and Peeta no longer has to count the steps quietly as he leads me around the floor. He leans his face in close to my ear and whispers how Effie must be so proud. I smile widely at him and he kisses my cheek; both of us playing it up for the cameras that are capturing our every move.

I risk a glance over his shoulder to where President Snow still stands with the couple that Peeta was speaking with just moments before. My eyes lock with his and it's like my veins are suddenly filled with ice water. He doesn't blink as his eyes move down to rest briefly on my father's pin that is attached securely to the strap of my dress. A slow smile stretches across his lips and my feet come to an almost complete stop. He catches my eyes once more, smile still on his face as he carefully leans down to take a whiff of the single white rose he wears on his lapel. I look away quickly, back to Peeta's face.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I nod my head, and try my best to roll my eyes in an easy, self-depreciating way. "Just clumsy, I guess."

I can tell from the wrinkles on his forehead that he doesn't believe me, but he just pulls me closer instead of calling me out. I fight the urge to look back at President Snow, and instead lean my entire torso into Peeta's, effectively blocking anyone's view of my mockingjay pin.

The song comes to an end and I dutifully bring a blush to my cheeks as Peeta kisses me softly. His lips have barely left mine when he is whirled away from me and into the arms of a Capitol citizen. This is not something that we experienced in the Districts, but I suppose I should have known that people here would be different.

People here treat Peeta as if they own him, as if he is a doll to be played with.

This thought causes a shiver to run down my spine. My eyes flicker back to the couple that are now shaking hands with President Snow and nodding their heads enthusiastically.

A soft tap on my shoulder startles me. I turn to find myself face to face with someone I've only seen previously on a television screen. His tall, athletic build is one that I would dare to say could even dwarf Gale's. He runs a hand casually through his bronze hair, and then offers it to me in greeting.

"Finnick Odair," he smiles at me, and I'm almost taken aback by how close he is. He keeps his eyes, which I will admit are every bit as beautiful as people give them credit for, on mine as he leans even closer to place a kiss onto the back of my hand.

Knowing that he expects a reply, I manage to get out my name, but nothing more.

"Shall we?" He gestures to the dancing couples around us, and my eyes search for Peeta ardently. I finally spot him across the now crowded dance floor, wrapped much too tightly for my taste, in the arms of a hefty, blue haired woman. I swallow hard. "I can help you, you know."

These words are whispered low and urgently, and do not fail to grab my attention. I nod once, and he pulls me into a slow dance that I'm not familiar with. Again, I'm thrown off by just how close he is. The thought of how millions of women across Panem would, quite likely, kill to be in my current position passes briefly through my mind.

"I don't think that I know this dance," I find myself saying.

"Ah. Well, please, allow me to teach you." His voice is a low purr, and through his smile, I manage to see something else. Something perhaps a bit sorrowful, but by the time I blink, it is gone.

He moves us to the outskirts of the platform, under the pretense of relocating in order to allow more room for our lesson. A half a minute of simple instructions, and a large, exaggerated show of his tutelage later, he pulls me close once again.

"So, I suppose it goes without saying that your Peeta is something special," his words are whispered into the hair over my ear. The previous pomp and circumstance of his voice is gone. I nod, and try to keep a smile on my face for everyone else to see. "And you've no doubt noticed that Snow, along with the rest of the people here, agrees with you?"

I pull back slightly, and force a laugh, that I hope sounds convincing, to fall from my lips.

"I would be blind if I didn't."

Finnick returns my laugh, and I hope that my reply was ambiguous enough to arouse any suspicions if caught on tape. He nods his head and murmurs that it would, in fact, take a blind person to not see everyone's fixation. I lean my head back to its previous spot beside his.

"You see, Katniss, I can't help but notice a striking resemblance between Peeta's current situation and one that I also faced not long after winning my Games." I do not reply. I'm not even sure that I could if I wanted to; the tone of Finnick's voice is, quite frankly, starting to scare me. "I, well, I spend far more time here in the Capitol than I would… were I given the choice. I also know a great deal more about the people here than anyone would ever care to. Things much more intimate than, say… how they take their morning tea. Though I do know those things as well."

I jerk my head back quickly, the implication of his words becoming clear. He pulls back to send a charming smile my way. A quick glance to my right lets me know that there are more than just a few sets of eyes on us.

"No, no…," he says as he pretends to adjust my stance. "More like this."

I nod and pretend to suddenly understand where my dancing has gone wrong.

"Thank you," I smile at him and hope that the slight tremor I feel in my voice goes unheard. "This positioning does make much more sense."

His eyes, when he sends yet another captivating smile my way, hold a silent apology. He leans in to continue his one-sided conversation once more.

"You mustn't let him end up like me."

"What can I do?"

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, desperate and broken. The song comes to an end and everyone breaks away from their partners, Finnick and I included, and we applaud the band softly. He takes my hand in his, and leans in once more before the line of Capitol women standing off to the side are able to take him away.

"If I knew, I wouldn't hesitate to tell you."

He is whisked away from me then, much like Peeta at the end of our dance. This thought only solidifies the similarities between the two victors in the eyes of the Capitol.

My mind reaches back to the night Haymitch was so distraught over the fact that Caesar Flickerman would be coming to interview Peeta at his home.

"I want you two to listen to me, and listen good." He had immediately dragged us to our regular conversation spot, and I knew no good would come of it when he pulled the silver flask from his pocket. "This interview has to be perfect. The two of you have to be the perfect couple. People are already in love with Peeta, but they need to be in love with both of you, as that perfect couple.You cannot let them want Peeta alone."

Peeta and I looked at each and then back to Haymitch, nodding in unison. Something about the look in the older man's eyes made us both too scared to speak.

"Just trust me." He took another pull from his flask. "This isn't normal procedure. They don't just send Flickerman out to interview every victor in their homes. The last time this happened was almost ten years ago with Finnick Odair."

I think of the man and woman that stood with President Snow earlier. I think of the excited smiles on their faces and the way they had shaken his hand.

I search the room then, turning my head frantically from side to side. I can't spot Peeta anywhere, and begin to panic. My stomach starts to roll and I feel like I'm going to be sick. I find Haymitch in the crowd and start to make my way over. When his eyes meet mine I can tell that he knows.

"You cannot let them want Peeta alone."

I've failed.

******

"How could you not tell me?"

"Sweetheart." Haymitch starts, stepping forward to lay a hand on my arm. I jerk it away from him roughly and cut off his words with some of my own.

"No. No, you hear me? There will be no 'sweetheart', or 'I didn't think you'd understand' this time, Haymitch!"

There is no question of how angry I am, and I'm struggling to keep my composure, as well as my voice down.

The empty corridor that Haymitch has dragged me into is just a short walk away from the banquet hall's large, ornate doors. It is quiet and dimly lit with candles that sit in sconces along the walls. Our bodies cast long, ominous shadows along the hallway, giving this space the same sinister feel as the rest of the mansion.

"Look," he steps forward and I take another step back. He rolls his eyes, but stops moving. "I couldn't be 100%. And if I wasn't 100%, I didn't want to put the boy through all of that worry; he's been through more than enough bullshit already."

I can't disagree with him on that, but find that my temper far outweighs any rationalization at the moment.

"You could have helped us, Haymitch! After that man-," My voice cracks and I swallow back what I can only assume would be a sob if I actually let it come to fruition. "After that man in 11, how could you even think of letting Peeta walk into a situation like this blind?"

The volume of my voice is rising higher and higher. Haymitch tries to step forward yet again, both of his hands out in front of him as if approaching a wild animal. I guess, given the situation, I can see the similarities. When I try to shove him away this time, he grabs both of my arms with a strength that surprises me.

"You could have at least told me, you know. I could've been better! I could've done more!" I'm beginning to lose all sense of logic, but continue anyway because, damn it, I'm just so furious. "You could have helped me stop this! You saved him once! Does that mean that you're omitted from any farther obligations?"

"Now, now, Miss Everdeen. While I don't pretend to know what it is you're discussing with your dear Peeta's mentor, I can assure you that it does not require such a harsh tone."

My body freezes at the sound of the voice behind me. Its cool, casual demeanor neither soothes, nor stills my inner turmoil. If anything, it makes it worse.

Haymitch lets go of my arms and they fall limply to my sides. I turn slowly, a shiver making its way up my spine in a languid manner. When I spot him, standing calmly only a few yards away, President Snow offers a small smile. He then turns to address the older man beside me.

"Mr. Abernathy, if you could give us a moment."

I see Haymitch hesitate for a fraction of a second before he nods in response.

"I'll be just inside, Sweetheart," he says in a voice loud enough for Snow to overhear. I briefly wonder if it was to let the man know that someone will be waiting for me, and that my absence will not go overlooked. Then I remember that it doesn't matter. If he so chooses, the entire party that accompanied Peeta here to the Capitol could disappear in an instant, and there would be nothing that anyone could do about it. There would be questions, yes, but those questions would inevitably go unanswered.

While I've been busy with these thoughts, I'm terrified to find that President Snow has only moved closer. He is almost close enough to reach and touch now, though I can't think of anything that would ever compel me to do so.

The smell of the white rose that is situated on his lapel is strong, but it is not that scent alone that turns my stomach. The stench of blood, its origin a mystery to me, mingles with the smell of the flower in the air around us. I am proud at my ability to keep myself from gagging at the overwhelming aroma.

"Where's Peeta?" The sound of my voice surprises me just as much as it does the man before me.

"Straight to the point, I see. I suppose I should never have expected anything less." He pauses, his eyes drawn once again to the mockingjay pin on the strap of my dress. "I must say that is a lovely pin, Miss Everdeen. How wonderful of Mr. Mellark to allow you to borrow the token he wore in the arena."

"It's mine, actually." I don't know why I'm offering this bit of information to the terrifying man in front of me, but it suddenly seems very important that he knows this pin does not belong to Peeta. "It was-,"

"Your father's." Snow interrupts me and I fear for a second that my heart has stopped beating. "Yes, I know. Pity, what happened to him. I do offer my condolences, even if they are a few years late."

My feet are frozen in place as I watch him turn to walk away. I don't know what to think, and start to feel dizzy before I remember my initial question. Without taking a step toward him, I call out.

"President Snow!"

He turns on his heel slightly, and looks back over his shoulder to where I stand.

"Yes, Miss Everdeen?"

I can tell from his raised eyebrow that he expects the predictable question of just what he knows about my father. Questions of how. I can't worry about those things in this precise moment, though.

"I have to ask again. Where's Peeta?"

He chuckles softly at my words. My voice is much stronger than I thought it could be, but he seems to have expected it.

"Of course," he says, almost to himself. "You know, until I overheard your little… disagreement with Mr. Abernathy a few moments ago, I was almost convinced that I needn't worry about you…"

He trails off then, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts that I'm sure revolve around me much more than I would care for them to. I can't let him know how much that frightens me, though. I can't let him know how confused his words are making me. I straighten my posture, and clear my throat loudly.

"Sir."

"Mr. Mellark is most likely with his mentor, awaiting the reappearance of his companion. I can assure you that your dear Peeta is safe… for tonight."

He starts to walk away once again, but this time turns back on his own accord.

"Oh, and Miss Everdeen? Please, extend my earlier condolences to your family."

I wait until he has rounded the corner and disappeared from my view before I lean against the nearest wall. I slide down its length and to the floor as I try to will my heart rate to return to normal.

******

It can only be a few moments later when I re-enter the banquet hall. My eyes frantically search for Peeta once again, and the sense of relief that I feel when seeing the back of his blond curls beside Haymitch is almost euphoric.

The mentor's eyes have, apparently, been trained on the doors since he returned, waiting for me to rejoin them. He looks at me skeptically, as if appraising me for any damage. There are hundreds of questions that need answers at the moment, but they'll have to wait.

I can feel my eyes narrow as I spot the white haired woman from earlier in the evening making her way through the crowd. I reach Peeta just seconds before she is able to and place my hand on his shoulder. He turns to face me, and the guarded look in his eyes disappears instantly.

"Hey," he breathes out with an easy smile on his face that makes it almost possible to forget the last few minutes.

I notice from over his shoulder that the woman has drawn nearer, having been joined by her repulsive husband. She is raising her hand now, in order to steal Peeta's attention away from me, but I can't let that happen.

I bring my hands up and quickly link them behind his neck. Peeta instantly wraps his arms around my waist to steady me, but I don't give him time to react in any other way before I press my lips forcefully to his own. It only takes a beat for him to return the kiss, but his surprise is evident in the way that his fingers grip tightly onto my sides for half a second. I move my lips against his slowly, but with a force that none of our other kisses have possessed.

When I feel his tongue brush my lower lip, I'm brought back to that night in his bedroom. For a moment, I forget just why I've decided to put on this display, and instead just focus on the boy in front of me. A small sigh escapes my lips and I feel the pressure of his hands increase, one still at my waist, and the other now splayed in between my shoulder blades. My fingers play with the curls at the base of his neck as we break apart, his forehead resting on mine.

He smiles down at me, and I do my best to make mine seem as carefree as possible.

"Now what did I do to deserve that?" Peeta asks, his voice just loud enough for the people around us to hear.

I shrug, and secure my arms tightly around his waist. Pressing my cheek against his chest, I close my eyes.

"Just missed you, I guess."

Peeta rocks me back and forth, our bodies beginning to move in an unconscious dance to the music. I look up to see President Snow's snakelike eyes watching me from his seat at the head table.

Despite how frightened I am at the moment, I know that the look I send his way leaves no room for question. It says that Peeta is not only safe for tonight, but for every night after that. Because I have no plans of letting Snow take him away.

This time, as he leans down to once again inhale the scent of the white rose on his jacket, there is no smile on his lips.


	10. Chapter 10

We return to the train as soon as the party is over with. As far as we're concerned, our departure from the Capitol cannot come soon enough.

Haymitch boards the train first, knowing that the reporters cannot care less about capturing him on film. Portia and the rest of the prep team follow him. I can't help but note the slight wobble in the footsteps of Cloud and Matisse, and shudder as I remember all of the drunken party goers we've encountered tonight. Effie walks in front of us, every once and while throwing a smile and a wave over her shoulder for the cameras. Despite my initial dislike, I find myself a bit embarrassed for her at the sight of her bright orange lipstick that has smeared itself on her front teeth.

Peeta and I are the last ones left with the crowd. We stand on the platform for a moment after everyone else has boarded, hand in hand, posing for the cameras. We share one last kiss for the citizens of the Capitol, and then rush into the train car as quickly as possible. Even with the doors shut securely behind us, I refuse to let go of his hand.

Haymitch is waiting outside of Peeta's compartment, and the three of us all share a look. The train will undoubtedly have to make a stop at some point during the night to refuel. We all know this will be our only real chance to speak. Peeta nods to his mentor, and we move into the room, both knowing that any attempts to sleep before then will be futile.

We take longer showers than necessary.

Peeta does so in order to rid his body of the feel of all of those Capitol citizen hands on him. I merely try to forget the sensation of Snow's eyes on my father's pin, of Snow's eyes on anything that belongs to me at all. I don't even hesitate when I add Peeta to this mental list.

It's a few hours later that we feel the train start to slow. Peeta and I look at each and immediately slip our boots onto our feet. The two of us, along with Haymitch, are at the doors, ready to depart as soon as it's safe to do so.

The small refueling station, along with the moon overhead, provides our little spot, just beyond the last car of the train, with very little light. I can't decide if this is something to be thankful for, or not. The air is cold and though we can't see each other's faces properly, our breath that hangs in the air in front of our mouths is perfectly visible. I wrap the blanket Peeta insisted I bring from the train around my shoulders tightly as I look to the older man beside me to begin sharing what he knows.

I note the way that Haymitch's hands have a slight shake to them from the years of alcohol abuse. The look in his eyes as he explains the plans that President Snow evidently has for Peeta is haunted, with an added hint of fury. He loses focus and, for a moment, goes on a tirade; damning the Capitol and everyone that resides in it. He's not looking at either of us as he begins to mumble to himself.

I step forward to reach for his shoulder, to bring him back to the topic at hand, and smell the faint hint of the white liquor he's so fond of. It's a smell that's been noticeably absent for the majority of the tour. When my fingers come in contact with the sleeve of his shirt, his head snaps up. As he looks at me, I'm shocked to see that the light from the moon reflects unshed tears in his eyes. At least, I think that they're tears. For all I know, they're just glassy from his current state of inebriation. The lines etched on his face are weary and worn from years of giving bad news, of watching children die, and of nightmares gone uncomforted.

For a very brief moment, I find myself feeling sorry for the man in front of me. However, the feeling is short-lived when I remember that he could have forewarned us to all of this happening. We could have been better prepared had he chosen to share what he knew before it was too late. I remove my hand and take a step back. He seems to understand my inner turmoil, and continues to talk.

Peeta is quiet the entire time that Haymitch speaks. Too quiet, really. I note the way that he's taken a step back, almost as if separating himself from us as soon as possible. Almost as if he's accepting his fate and trying to make it easier.

I move closer to him and interrupt Haymitch's words.

"You don't have to worry about all of that, Peeta. It's not going to happen. I won't let it happen."

He takes another step away from us and is quiet for a moment longer. Finally, he lets out a slow, shaky breath and says something that both saddens and infuriates me all at once. His voice is low, and I'm not entirely positive that it was something we were meant to hear.

"It would have been better if I'd just died in there."

After I get over the shock of what he's just said, I'm in his face in an instant. My hands are gripping his arms so tightly that my knuckles have turned white.

"Don't you  _dare_ say that!"

"But it's true, Katniss!" He pulls his arms out of my grip so roughly that I stumble back a few steps. "You  _know_  that it's true! If it weren't for me, Rue wouldn't be dead! That man in 11 wouldn't be dead! I wouldn't be in this mess right now… wondering what price I'll go for when auctioned off!"

I'm unable to look in his eyes, my gaze instead resting on the uneven rising and falling of his shoulders. His breathing is heavy, and I can tell that won't be changing anytime soon. He takes a hesitant step closer to me, and I force myself to look up at his face. He brings his hands out in front of his body, carefully taking mine into them.

"If I hadn't made it home, then you wouldn't be stuck where you are, either… If I had died in the arena, your life would be so much easier! You could be getting on with your life! You wouldn't have to worry about what's going to happen to you, or about your mother and Prim's safety!"

It's not until Peeta's hands comes up to his cheek and I feel a stinging in my right palm that I realize I've just slapped him. I stand there, looking back and forth between Peeta and Haymitch. My mouth hangs open in shock. The anger I feel inside causes a heat to trickle up from my neck, and I'm sure that it reddens it, as well as my cheeks and ears. I hear a commotion behind me and turn to see that the attendants have finished their jobs and are calling for us to re-board.

I turn on my heel and stalk back to the train without another word, or looking back. I do not return to the room that I share with Peeta, and instead slip into a compartment filled with sofas and armchairs. The train starts to move again, and I settle down on a sofa that rests beside a large window. Bringing my knees to my chin, I sit and watch the scenery pass by.

I try not to focus on the fact that I've just physically assaulted my best friend. I also attempt not to think about the conversation that I didn't get to have with Haymitch about exactly how Snow knew what he did about my father. I try not to linger on either of these things, but fail miserably.

There's still so much to be said.

It could be minutes, or maybe hours, that have passed, but when I hear someone enter the car, the tell-tale sound of his prosthetic leg lets me know that Peeta has managed to track me down. I listen as he lowers himself into the armchair that's positioned against the wall that my back is to. We sit in silence for a few moments before I finally decide to speak.

"I'd say that I'm sorry, but I'm not."

I hear a scoff from behind me, but still don't turn around. I pull my legs closer to my body and stiffen when I hear him get out of his seat. He sits in front of me, his good leg mirroring the position of mine, while the other is stretched out along the front of the sofa. I keep my eyes out the window as I go on.

"I'm really not. You deserved it."

"Did I?" I nod my reply, still not looking at him. "Mind explaining to me why?"

"Because…. Because out of everything that has gone through my mind since you were named Victor… even with having to worry about myself, and Prim, and my mother, even after all of that, I have never once thought that my life would be easier if you had died." I finally raise my eyes to look at his face. "If you hadn't made it back, Peeta… If you had died in there, I'm almost positive that a part of me would have died with you."

I turn my eyes back to the window, not trusting myself to hold it together much longer. Peeta doesn't say anything as he grabs my shoulders and pulls me against his chest. The position is uncomfortable, and I can't move my arm that's pinned between us, but I don't mention it. After a minute, or two, he releases a long breath just above the top of my head, ruffling my hair slightly.

"Did you really have to  _hit_  me, though?" His voice is light, and I know that my actions have been forgiven. I pull away and turn to where I can face him. His smile is trying so desperately not to seem forced.

"Yeah, well you're lucky that's all I did."

Silence falls between us once again, but I can tell by the way that he keeps fidgeting with a loose thread near the bottom of his t-shirt that he has something else that he wants to say. I wait for a few minutes, giving him plenty of time to spit it out, but he doesn't. Finally, the constant movements of his fingers getting to be more nerve-wracking than endearing, I place my hand over his.

"Peeta, whatever it is you need to say, just say it."

He drops his gaze from mine, and if I didn't know any better, I would say that he looks nervous. No, he definitely does. And seeing Peeta nervous makes me feel the same way.

"It's just… Haymitch…," he pauses and then starts to speak again, his voice much lower. "Haymitch thinks that there might be a way around this whole thing."

He doesn't have to clarify what he means by 'this whole thing', and I lean forward, ready to hear the suggestion. The next sentence from his mouth comes out in such a rush that I almost don't catch it all.

"He thinks that we should get married."

"What?" I ask, even though I understand the reasoning behind it perfectly.

Surely, if Peeta is married then Snow won't be able to turn him into the Capitol's next prostitute. The media and the people of Panem will have no doubt of our love and loyalty to one another, and it would be very uncouth to have a married man in the same position as Finnick Odair. Surely, even President Snow wouldn't stoop that low.

Peeta looks down at his hands starts to pick at the skin around a fingernail.

"I told him that I didn't know if it was the best idea. I know… I know how you feel about marriage, and I could never ask you to-," he stops speaking when I put a hand underneath his chin, and force him to look at me.

"No… No, you should do it."

I swallow hard and keep my eyes on his. He's right, of course. I've never wanted marriage, or kids, or any of the things that go along with them. I could never bring children into the world that we live in, knowing that after twelve short years of life that they would be eligible for something as horrible as the Games.

I try to tell myself that the choice I'm making is an easy one. That I would gladly make the same decision if I were in this same situation with someone else that I cared for. Of course, the list of people that I care for is remarkably short, and if you were to replace Peeta with Gale, I can't be sure that I would be as easily agreeable.

The very thought confuses me in a way that I can't even begin to explain. I start to talk again just so I can escape my thoughts.

"You should ask me day after tomorrow, during the Victory Rally in front of the district."

"Are… are you sure, Katniss?"

"You could do a hell of a lot worse, sweetheart."

The gruff voice from the doorway startles us both. Haymitch rests against one side of the doorframe and inclines his head toward the two of us.

I let a small smile slip onto my lips as I reach for Peeta's hands and nod.

* * *

When we arrive back in District 12, there is a small crowd of people waiting at the train station to welcome us home. My family, along with Peeta's, the Undersees, Cartwrights, and several others are there to meet us. The Hawthorne's are noticeably absent, and I attempt to ignore the slight hurt that I feel.

My mother and Prim both rush to meet me on the platform, and I can feel both of their eyes on me as they do a visual once-over to make sure that I'm okay. I do the same for both of them. I feel a sense of relief as I see that they're both just fine. My mother kisses my cheek and Prim's arms are wrapped around my waist tightly.

I look just a few feet away to where Peeta and his family are having a similar reunion. Well, everyone aside from his mother, that is. She is, as usual, standing several feet away, her hands clasped in front of her, a polite smile on her face for the sake of the cameras. Our eyes meet briefly and her smile slips for an instant, pulling the corners of her lips downward.

Prim pushes passed me and almost knocks Peeta over with the hug that she throws around his legs. This brings a smile to my face as I remember how similar this scene is to that one that played out when he returned home a little over six months ago.

So much has changed since then, though.

As if this thought needs solidifying, Chord and Leif wrap me in 'welcome home' hugs just as they've done their brother. Mr. Mellark gently places a large hand on my shoulder and offers me a warm smile. The thought that I'll soon be calling them my brothers and father passes through my mind and I start to feel queasy.

Peeta's hand easily finds mine, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. I lean up to kiss his cheek and he surprises me by turning his face at the last second. My lips meet with his, and I feel a smile stretch out over his mouth. I pull back just far enough for him to see my smirk before I lean back into him once more.

I press my cheek against Peeta's chest once we separate, trying my best to hide my blush. I don't look up again until I can feel the rumbling of his laughter deep in his chest. As I look up at him skeptically, he just shakes his head and points to a spot off to our left.

"I think that's the first time he's ever had a welcoming committee," Peeta says softly.

I look over in the direction that he's indicated and smile.

Across the platform Prim is pulling Haymitch by the hand, chattering about something as he adjusts his duffle bag up onto his shoulder. The smile on his face is small, but it's genuine. He looks over to where we stand and nods his head slightly. The corner of my mouth quirks upward, and I can't help but love my little sister even more.

* * *

After our dinner at the Mayor's house last night, Peeta and I were both more than happy to be back at home. Of course, Peeta, being the far too polite person that he is, insisted that Effie, Portia, and his prep team stay the night there as well. So what should have been our quiet, relaxing first night back home was neither of those things.

Effie, of course, insisted that we watch every bit of the media's coverage of the tour that we'd missed this afternoon while dining with the Undersees. So we sat there, all crowded into the living room, and watched the footage of our homecoming. Effie prattled on about how she wished that they would focus more on her left, and not her right side. About how shocked she was that the cameras had captured Haymitch actually sober for once. And, of course, about how she would almost kill to see me stand up straight just once.

Peeta and I rolled our eyes, and kept our thoughts on her commentary to ourselves. It wasn't until later in the night, after we had decided bed sounded like a wonderful idea and I was already underneath the covers, that he excused himself. He let me know that he was going to inform Effie, along with the others, of his plan for tomorrow.

I could hear the District 12 escort's excited yelps coming from downstairs as clear as day.

When we got up this morning, I was immediately ushered out of the house, and into Haymitch's. I haven't seen Peeta all day, but my mother and Prim, after visiting him for lunch, have assured me that he's just fine.

I can tell by their faces that they've been clued into what's going to transpire this afternoon at the rally. We don't talk about it, but I'm sure that they know I'm aware it's going to happen. My mother watches me much closer than usual, as if trying to gauge my level of anticipation. Prim just smiles even more than usual.

As I'm being plucked and polished by Peeta's prep team, with Portia at the helm, I'm taken back to the conversation I had with Haymitch earlier today. Having something to concentrate on makes it easier to deal with the pain of being made beautiful, it seems.

* * *

With my mother and Prim sent to check up on Peeta, I drag Haymitch into his backyard, demanding answers. Knowing that I wouldn't let up until I had some sort of explanation, he doesn't fight me. Knowing my appreciation for bluntness, his words are straight to the point.

"The year that your father died, the mine explosion here in 12 wasn't the only 'accident' across the districts. Your dad, along with a few others, Mitchell Hawthorne included, were among fifty plus rebellion leaders that died that year. Wildfires in District 7, a fishing boat capsize in 4, along with a random grain silo collapse in 9."

I stand there, allowing his words to sink in for a few moments.

My father was a rebellion leader.

This is, of course, news to me. I was still so young when he was alive, though. It would have been easy for me to be kept in the dark. The way that I had idolized him would have made it simple, really.

I remember that I used to scare my mother to death with some of the things that would come out of my mouth about the Capitol when I was younger. They were mostly things that I'd overheard my father saying to his friends, and I had believed every word out that he spoke without question.

With this new knowledge, those words seem to make even more sense to me now.

I remember the first time that my father took me to the lake. I couldn't help but think it odd at the time that a place so isolated, outside the boundaries of any of the districts, could seem so alive. At first I thought it was just the birds, and the wind, and the fresh air that made it so. That wasn't all, though. Thinking back to the small, stone house that stands on its shore leads me to vaguely recall how the smell of pipe tobacco and burnt wood always seemed to linger in the air back then.

My father didn't smoke, and we rarely lit fires in the small fireplace.

It's obvious to me now that I was the not only one that accompanied my father to this place. I feel the tiniest prick of anger inside of me at the fact that there were others that knew of the place I had always deemed the most special to me. The place that I'd thought I had shared with my father, and my father alone.

The anger diminishes quickly when I realize that those other people are dead now, for the very same reason that he is.

"The rebellion never really died out, Sweetheart. Not when 13 was bombed 75 years ago, and not when your father died five years ago. They've just been waiting for the right moment… And when Peeta came along, he was just so… so good. Such an undeniably  _good_ kid. He's a perfect reminder of what we all should be fighting for. And not only that, but…" he hesitates, and as the pause stretches out I wonder if he'll stop speaking all together. "Your father's pin that you gave him to wear… Well, your father was well-liked, well-remembered. To everyone watching, that mockingjay symbolized a lot more than just a boy's promise to make it home to his girl."

"So… you knew?" My voice is quiet, and I barely recognize it as it leaves my mouth.

Haymitch pauses, and I watch as he pulls the flask out from his jacket's inner pocket. He lifts it to his lips and shuts his eyes tightly. After he takes a few more pulls, he finally answers me.

"If you're asking me whether or not I knew all of this was going to happen, then no… I had no idea."

We both know that this is not exactly what I'm asking him, but I can tell this is the only answer that I'm going to get for now.

* * *

The sound of Portia clearing her throat brings me back to the present, and I blink a few times before I turn to face her.

She stands between my body and the mirror, much like she had five months ago when I'd gone on a tirade of how no one was more protective of Peeta than me. I'll admit, I haven't taken the time that I probably should have to get to know her during the tour. Still, the gentle smile that's on her face as she surveys her work lets me know that she harbors no ill feelings toward me. At least, I hope that's what it means.

She takes a step back and allows me to see myself for the first time since the long, drawn out process of getting me ready began. I take an involuntary step forward, in shock over what I see.

I'm more than happy to discover that despite what had seemed like layer upon layer of makeup being slathered on my face, I still look remarkably like myself. Even the freckles lightly dusted across my nose and cheeks from hours spent in the woods show through, and I find myself smiling at them. My eyes have been given a smoky effect, but it's not overwhelming. My hair is pulled back into an intricate braid that resembles the way my mother has always fixed it for the reapings.

My eyes are drawn down to the dress. The bodice is form-fitting, with a lower cut neckline than I would normally feel comfortable in, but the ivory-colored lace that lines the deep, wide-set v provides just the right amount of coverage to satisfy my modesty. Tiny, cap sleeves cover my shoulders, with the ivory lace lining them as well. The skirt flares out at the hips, and comes to an end a few inches below my knees. When I turn to see the back, I note that the soft, warm orange color seems to glow as the skirt flutters around my legs. I don't get to focus on this fact for very long, however. Whereas the front of the dress is rather plain, the back is virtually non-existent. In fact, almost my entire back is bare, and I wonder at her choice, given that there's still snow on the ground outside.

I do not question her, though. She places a hand on my arm and I turn to face her.

"That's for Peeta," she smiles, and I still don't understand. "You'll be wearing a wrap for the ceremonies, of course."

I don't know what to say, so I simply nod and turn back to the mirror.

"It's his favorite color," I murmur as I swish the skirt back and forth around my knees.

"He really does love you, you know."

Her words stop me mid-swish and I smooth out the skirt without looking up at her. Surely she's not been let in our ruse. She must just be trying to set the mood for the proposal later. I swallow hard and look back at the mirror, but her eyes are trained on mine.

"I know." I smile, but it looks nervous, even to me. "I love him, too."

"I mean it, Katniss. Peeta is in love with you. Please… Just remember that tonight."

And with that, she is back to business. I'm confused and tongue-tied as she takes out a cosmetic puff of some sort and quickly blots at my collar bone with a light, shimmery substance. Even if I knew what to say in response to her words, the set of her jaw as she works lets me know that she doesn't want to hear it. She holds a wrap that I had failed to noticed until now out to me, and we head outside to enter the car that waits to take us to the square.

* * *

It seems like no time has passed at all before I find myself standing at the side of the stage outside of the Justice Building. I listen as Mayor Undersee gives a speech in Peeta's honor, and find myself clapping along with the audience.

I pay close attention to Peeta's words as he says kinder things about our district and the Capitol than I know I'd ever be able to choke out.

He thanks his family, seated in the front row. He thanks his mentor, and Haymitch stands from the chair behind him, clapping a hand on the shoulder of the young man in front of him. He thanks Portia and his prep team, who wave from their seats off to the side. When he thanks Effie, Haymitch has to physically restrain her from heading to the microphone to say a little speech of her own.

The slight pause that he takes after he finishes with Effie's thank you leaves a nervous feeling in my stomach.

He then starts to go on about how the entire time he was in the arena; there was one person that he thought of more than anything else. He says my name, and it sounds so reverent as it falls from his lips that I can feel my heart rate pick up speed. He talks about how it was the thought that I was back here, home, awaiting his return that kept him going.

When he calls for me to join him on stage, my legs start to shake, but I find that they're moving toward him regardless. He smiles as soon as he sees me, and I can feel my stomach do a little flip as I beam back at him. I'm all too aware of the audience that we have as he wraps his arms around me, but still kiss him as if no one is watching.

Peeta takes both of my hands in his, and I know that this is it. He turns to face me, no longer looking out over the crowd.

"Katniss Everdeen, I just want to say 'thank you'. Thank you for always being there for me, for being the best friend that I could ever ask for. Thank you for giving me something to live for, something worth coming home to."

He pauses, and I'm surprised to find that my eyes have started to tear up. He lets go of one hand and brushes a stray tear from my cheek. My eyes flutter closed at his touch and I lean forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.

He turns to face the people of District 12, along with the cameras, once more.

"I'd like to take a moment to explain to everyone just how this started."

I'm confused and not sure exactly where Peeta is going with this.

"I was five years old and it was my first day of school. I remember my father standing with me, waiting for the day to get started. I was nervous because I didn't know anyone, and he was trying to make me feel better. He pointed to a little girl across the school yard. I can still remember the red, plaid dress that she wore, and how her hair was in two braids down her back. He told me how he had known her mother, and how she had married a man who had a voice so beautiful that when he sang, even the birds stopped to listen."

Peeta looks over at me now, and I'm almost embarrassed by how much his speech is affecting me. He knows that talk of my father is bound to get to me, and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

I know now that what I'm doing is the right thing. I've known that all along, really, but it feels different now. The mere mention of my dad makes me think of what Haymitch said earlier. Peeta really is a reminder of what everyone should be fighting for.

He is a perfect example of what my father would be fighting for if he were still alive today. Even if he weren't my best friend, and even if I didn't care for him the way that I do, that would be reason enough.

"Now, of course, I didn't believe him. I mean, who has a voice that beautiful? Later in the day, though, at the music assembly, our teacher asked if anyone knew the valley song. The little girl with the braids immediately shot her hand up into the air. The teacher stood her up on her chair, and I swear, when she sang, every bird outside of the windows fell silent… And that… That's when I knew that I was a goner."

I know that this is a staged proposal. That Peeta has to make it sound convincing. I was prepared for his carefully arranged words to bring out my already practiced reaction, but not for this. His eyes bore into mine as the beating of my heart becomes louder in my ears.

If I think back, I can just barely recall the day he's talking about. I vaguely remember the dress he's described. Prim wore it on her first day of school as well. I no longer know the words to the valley song, and have no memory of ever singing the song for anyone aside from my father. How Peeta can remember the day in such detail astounds me.

"If the Games taught me anything, it's that life is short, and the amount of time that we have is never guaranteed. Now, I know that we're young, but I also know that I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you."

When he drops down onto one knee, Portia's words from earlier come to mind.

" _I mean it, Katniss. Peeta is in love with you. Please… Just remember that tonight."_

When I look down at my best friend, his hands gripping mine tightly, I can see in his eyes that she is right. The way he looks up at me now is the same way that my father looked at my mother. I'm surprised to find that the tears running down my face are not practiced or artificial.

"I love you, Katniss Everdeen. More than you know. Will you marry me?"

The shock on my face is evident when he pulls a ring from his jacket pocket. I remember something about this tradition, practiced centuries ago, and still observed in the Capitol. When and where he got it is a mystery to me, especially considering this plan was only put into place a short time ago.

I'm unable to find my voice, and nod my head vigorously in response. He slips the ring onto my finger and looks up at me. When he moves to stand up again, I can tell by the look of discomfort that quickly crosses his face that his prosthetic leg is not cooperating.

Unable to stand it anymore, I drop to my knees in front of him. I just barely hear the sharp intake of breath that he takes in response to my action before my lips are on his. I cradle his face in my palms, and hear him gasp as his cold hands make their way inside my wrap, splaying across the expanse of my bare back.

I pull him closer to me, more than happy to get lost in the moment for now. In fact, it's not until we pull away for breath that I remember the audience. Their cheers and applause rings loudly in my ears, and the blush on my face is genuine as Peeta and I rise together and face them. I hold my hand up, thrusting the ring out for the Capitol cameras to see, and let out a squeal that I hope is more girlish than frightening.

When I throw my arms around Peeta once more, I meet Haymitch's eyes over his shoulder. He nods his head in approval as he claps slowly. I can't help but think back to his words on the train the night we left the Capitol.

He had said that I could do a hell of a lot worse.

In this moment, I can't help but think to myself that I'm not sure there's anyone better.


	11. Chapter 11

I wake up with a stiff back and limbs that don't fare much better. I wince a little as I roll over to greet what I find is a cold, empty spot on the mattress beside me. Upon farther inspection, I see that I'm also still wearing the same dress that Portia provided me with for the rally last night.

Actually, now that I think about it, I don't even remember getting home last night, much less getting into bed.

I pull myself into a seated position and lean forward as far as I can to help work out the kinks from my muscles. I'm still situated like this, arms reaching forward with palms spread out flat on the bedspread, when I hear the bathroom door open on the opposite side of the room. I lift my head and catch a quick glimpse of the ring on my finger before I look up at Peeta; it's going to take some getting used to.

A deep blush is brought to my cheeks when I see that the low-slung towel around his hips is the only thing currently covering his body.

His hair is wet from the shower, and hangs in his eyes. Despite his current state of undress, he smiles easily down at me before moving to his dresser to rummage around for clothes. I try to force my eyes not to linger on his back or the little droplets of water on his shoulders, and look away quickly when he turns his head to talk.

"Sorry, I didn't think you'd be awake yet. You slept like a rock last night."

"I must have," I try to make my voice sound normal. Why doesn't it sound normal to me? "I don't even remember the car ride home."

Peeta laughs and turns to face me, clothes in hand.

"Yeah, I wouldn't think so… You fell asleep almost as soon as we got in it." He pauses as he pulls a t-shirt over his head. Again, I find my eyes lingering on the muscles in his stomach and the way they cut into a 'v' shape just beside his hip bones. I feel my blush deepen and throw my face back down onto the bed. "I bet the reporters loved it, though. I had to carry you into the house myself."

"Sorry."

My reply is muffled by the blankets as I refuse to lift my head. I wait until I hear the drawer close, followed by the bathroom door, before sitting back up. I twist my body and place my feet down on the floor. The hardwood is cold and I wince a little as I get out of bed.

When Peeta reappears in the room my back is facing him as I look out the window over the front yard. I'm pleasantly surprised with the lack of Capitol cameramen this morning. I assume the idea of standing outside in the snow for hours isn't a pleasant one, even for them.

"I'm not sure if I got a chance to mention it last night, but that dress… Wow."

His words don't shock me. Peeta is just as good at giving compliments as I am bad at receiving them. It's the careful, warm hand that he places on my still bare back that causes me to jump a little. He pulls it away quickly and I instantly feel guilty over my reaction. I turn to face him, grabbing the hand that hasn't made its way back to his side yet in mine, and send him a small smile. He smiles back, and I feel as if my stomach is tightening into a tiny coil inside me.

For a moment, I forget what I was planning on saying and just stand there. My eyes pass over his wet, wavy bangs, and I bring my hand up to brush them from his forehead without thinking. His smile softens and the coil in my stomach grows even tighter. His thumb brushes over the outside of mine and he tucks some stray hair behind my ear with his free hand. Suddenly aware of just how close we are, I practically spit my next words from my mouth.

"Well, thanks, but I'm pretty sure Portia is the one you should be talking to. She did all the work, after all. She said that it was for you, though. Whatever that meant."

I let go of his hand and move quickly into the bathroom without another word. The air is still thick and warm from his shower, but as soon as the door is closed, I turn the taps back on. I place my back against the wall and slide down its length to sit on the floor. Waiting until I can hear Peeta exit the bedroom, I let out a long, slow breath.

I don't know what's gotten into me. Maybe it's all the acting that we've been doing for the cameras over the past two weeks. I've gotten so used to adoring Peeta for the public eye that it's harder for me to turn it off, maybe?

I think of Portia's words from yesterday. I think of the look in Peeta's eyes last night when he was down on one knee in front of me. I think of how the cameras melted into the background as I had sank to the floor to kiss him. I think of his hand on my back just a moment before and the way that his smile had made me feel. About the way that it  _makes_  me feel. I look down at the ring on my finger that he had no time to purchase after we'd planned the proposal.

For a brief moment, I even allow myself to think that a marriage, if it's one to Peeta, might not be as terrible as I've always thought. It might be something worth fighting for all on its own.

I shake my head. I can't afford to think this way. This marriage will be about protecting each other; about protecting Peeta from a life that no one deserves. I move to the mirror and swipe through the steam with my hand so that I can see my reflection. I nod to myself, needing reaffirmation.

Yes, that's what this is all about.

I undress, and then step into the shower, trying not to think about it anymore. As I adjust the temperature, however, I can't shake that feeling in my stomach. I know what it feels like to protect someone that you care about, and I know what it feels like to do something out of necessity.

While what Peeta and I are doing feels like both of these things, there's something else there, too. Something that I don't recognize. Something that scares me.

* * *

As I make my way down the stairs, I can hear Peeta speaking with someone on the front porch. Praying that the reporters have not returned, I reach the bottom floor just in time to hear Peeta thank whoever it was, and shut the door behind him. The scent of freshly baked bread makes its way to where I stand from the kitchen and my stomach growls embarrassingly loud. I'm sure that he can hear it, but he doesn't turn around.

"Peeta, who was that?"

His shoulders are hunched and I can just make out the slight tremble in them. He doesn't respond, instead his attention focused on whatever he holds in his hands.

"Peeta, what's wrong? What is it?"

I rush to his side and immediately freeze when I see what's been delivered.

A small bouquet of stark white roses in a deep red vase; nothing too extravagant, but enough to get the point across.

I take the arrangement from Peeta's hands as quickly as possible and set it on a small table beside the door. The overwhelming smell of them turns my stomach, and I know that they must be genetically modified. No ordinary roses have an aroma this strong. Before I can move away, I almost swear that the stench of blood also lingers in the air. I involuntarily gag as I feel Peeta's arm wrap around my waist to pull me away.

Once we've reached a reasonable distance, we just stand there, staring across the room at the flowers. It takes a moment for me to realize that Peeta still holds a small, cream colored envelope in one hand. When he sees me looking at it, he carefully slips a finger underneath the top flap and tears it open. He pulls out a small notecard, much smaller than the envelope itself, and I watch as his eyes move across the few words that have been handwritten on the paper.

"Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. I wish you both much happiness, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Peeta reads the card aloud, and then passes it to me. There is no signature. There doesn't need to be one.

I cross the room to toss the card and envelope into the fireplace and don't turn back around until the entire thing has gone up in flames. I return to stand at his side and continue to stare at the flowers. Peeta nudges me, and I look up at his face.

"Do you think we should burn them, too?"

"No," I shake my head at him as I move to pick them up. "If we do that, the whole house will probably stink of them. I say we just throw them out back, into the woods. That way, we won't have to look at them."

He nods and follows me as I head to the back door. We've almost reached the edge of the yard when I hear footsteps coming our way. I stiffen and feel Peeta turn a half-second before I do, putting him in between my body and whoever is approaching.

"Peeta? Katniss?"

Prim.

I breathe a sigh of relief and place my hand on his elbow before stepping out from behind Peeta's body. She stands a few feet away with a confused look on her face. She eyes the flowers in my hand and steps forward quickly, her arm stretched out in front of her.

"Oh, how pretty! Who sent you flowers?"

Before her fingers can come in contact with the wretched things, I pull the roses out of her reach. Without another word, I quickly toss them into the trees. I watch as they land just beyond the fence that borders the property line; just beyond view. My aim couldn't have been better.

"Katniss?"

I turn back around at my sister's voice and wave in the direction of the discarded flowers with a dismissive hand.

"Oh, just someone from the Capitol, Prim. Something must have gotten into them during transit, though. There were… bugs," I offer lamely.

My acting may have gotten better over the past six months, but my ability to come up with lies on the spot certainly hasn't. She looks at me as if she doesn't quite believe what I've said, but thankfully doesn't press me on it.

"Okay…" She trails off and looks from me to Peeta. "I just wanted to let you know not to wait on us for dinner tonight. Mrs. Ownsby's son got hurt pretty bad down in the mines this morning so mom and I will be busy tending to him at their house. Haymitch said he was going to stay home and 'enjoy the peace and quiet for once', but between us, I know he's just going to lay around and drink the day away."

I open my mouth to protest and say that he really shouldn't be behaving in such a way while they're living with him, but Prim puts up a hand to stop me. I'm surprised when she turns to walk away before bothering to speak. It just reminds me of how quickly she's starting to grow up.

"Don't worry. He'll just fall asleep on the couch and stay there 'til morning. It'll be fine."

Peeta actually laughs as we watch Prim make her way back to Haymitch's house. I turn my head toward his and level him with a glare that cuts him off mid-chuckle. He knows better than most how much I love my sister, and how hard it is to see her need me less and less.

"Sorry. She just knows you so well," he offers with a shrug before we turn to re-enter the house. I flick his ear lightly to let him know that he's forgiven and he ducks his head and laughs again.

The smell of roses still lingers in the living room so we make a silent agreement before grabbing the plate of bread Peeta made, along with a jar of apple jelly, to move upstairs to his bedroom. By the time we reach his room, we find that it's started to rain. We sit in silence, me on the floor and Peeta on the edge of the bed, and watch as it starts to come down in sheets against the window pane.

After a while, I take the plate, now empty save for a few crumbs, and place it on a small table near the door. I return to my position on the floor in front of the bed and lean my head back against Peeta's good leg.

"So," I start, not really sure what to say. I pretend that my longer than necessary pause only serves as time for me to stand up and sit beside him on the bed. "A whole day to ourselves."

Peeta turns to look at me and leans over my lap a little to grab my left hand in his.

"Well, we do have a wedding to plan, after all."

His eyebrows move comically up and down and I can't help but break into a smile. Knowing that only so much can be said inside this house, I hold my hand out in front of me to admire the ring. He reaches out and takes the hand in his once more. I look over at him once I realize that he's trembling slightly.

"I suppose you're right."

He holds my gaze for a few seconds before he looks away, swallowing hard and running his free hand through his hair. When he looks back at me, I can see how nervous he really is. Whatever he has to say, he doesn't want anyone to overhear it. His eyes dart to the window, and I turn my head to follow them. The rain is coming down even heavier now, and I know that there's no hope of being able to speak outside.

After a few seconds of thought, I stand up, pulling Peeta off the bed with me. When I walk into the bathroom and start to run the sink, along with the shower, he seems to get the idea. He turns on the hair dryer, and I think back to the day that we'd watched Haymitch as he'd taken the same precautions before coaching us through Peeta's very first interview here in District 12. It seems like years ago.

"I think that should do it," I say, keeping my voice as low as possible despite the precautions already in place.

He nods and sits on the side of the bathtub. I take a seat beside him and lay a hand on his thigh to encourage him to say whatever is on his mind. He places his palm over it and I wonder if he feels the same tingle that I do when our skin comes into contact.

"Katniss, look… I know… I know that this is not what you want. I know the way that marriage makes you feel, how _love_  makes you feel, and I know that you've never wanted it. I just, I wanted to let you know that I understand that, and that I'm sorry."

I sit there, allowing his words to really sink in. I want to tell him that he shouldn't be apologizing for something that he has no real choice in, but I'm too hung up on his use of the word 'love' to speak at all.

Yes, romantic love has always made me feel uneasy. And, yes, I've mostly seen it as a weakness. That was the way that it  _made_  me feel, though. Now I'm not really sure what my thoughts on the matter are.

I think of my father and how much he loved my mother. How much he loved me, and how much he loved Prim. Then I think of all of the new things I've learned about him over just these past few days. He loved passionately, but he also fought just as passionately for the things that he believed in. If he could do these things and still be just as much of a hero in my eyes, then what's stopping me from doing the same? It seems that it would make it so much easier seeing that the thing that I love and the thing that I believe in are one in the same.

Even the use of the word 'love' in my own thoughts confuses me.

Suddenly, I become all too aware of the heavy, damp air that surrounds us in the room. I note the way that the mirrors have become fogged and the way the steam in the air has started to curl the edges of Peeta's bangs upward. I can feel the sweat starting to prick at the back of my neck and even though I'd like to blame it on the room's current state, I'm almost positive that the heat is not to blame for my difficulty breathing right now.

Peeta seems to take my lack of reply as a sign of silent agreement and continues to apologize. His words come out quickly, but he's flustered now, and it shows in his speech pattern.

"I just need you to understand that… that, damn it, this is  _not_  how I ever pictured this. This is not the way that I wanted this to… I mean, I would never force you into anything. I'd never force you to  _do_  anyth-…"

His words trail off as I pull my hand out from underneath his and turn my body to face him as much as I can. I place one hand at the nape of his neck, my fingers burying themselves into the damp curls. With my other hand, I gently cradle his jaw. His eyes grow wide for a split second before I convince myself to stop thinking and just act.

My eyes flutter closed and when our lips meet, it's tentative and careful. We may have kissed dozens of times, but this is different. It doesn't feel like the very first kiss we had without cameras, for 'practice'. It's also nothing like the kiss on the train before we arrived in 11 that served as a promise.

This kiss is the first that's occurring for no reason other than simple want.

Well, I say simple, but I know that nothing is simple anymore. Not really.

Those thoughts pass through my mind in an instant, but none of them stick. I'm far too lost in the feel of Peeta's lips moving against mine to pay attention to anything else. Without realizing it, I've somehow positioned my body so that I'm even closer to him, sitting on the thigh of his non-prosthetic leg, my chest flush with his. His tongue brushes my lips and I open my mouth to grant it entrance for a few seconds before pulling his bottom lip in between my own.

My right hand has moved from his jawline to his back, and I find myself gripping the fabric of his t-shirt tightly, feeling the muscles flex underneath. His own hands surprise me when I feel them settle on my hips, their digits dipping underneath the shirt that I'm wearing. His fingers feel like fire against the cooler flesh of my lower back and I gasp into his mouth.

I can feel the grin on his lips and am reminded of the night in his bedroom, of how I felt his mouth form a similar expression then. The memory alone is enough to now bring a smile to my face, but I'm surprised to find that essentially reenacting the moment makes it much wider. As soon as he feels the corners of my lips raise against his it's like an entirely different side of him comes out. For the most part, Peeta has been happy to let me take the lead on just how our displays of affection play out.

It's like my smile against his, in this room, alone and knowing that this kiss is just for us, is all the permission that needs.

His fingers are suddenly digging deeper into my sides, bringing me even closer than before. I grip his shirt even tighter, balling the fabric into my palm as I return the new intensity he's brought into our kiss. When we part for air, I'm surprised when I feel Peeta's lips travel from mine down to the curve of my jaw, and then again down to my neck, and finally to the sensitive skin right behind my ear. My mouth drops open at the foreign sensation and I grab him to pull his face back to mine, placing another hot, urgent kiss to his lips.

We pull away again, and I rest my forehead on his. Our breathing is labored, and I focus on the rise and fall of his chest before I look into Peeta's eyes. He looks as unsure of what just happened as I feel. I take a deep breath and then whisper.

"I need  _you_  to understand something, too, Peeta. You're right; this isn't what I wanted, or what I thought I wanted, or whatever…" My words trail off and a look of defeat crosses his face, but I place a hand on his cheek as the only way I can think of to somewhat reassure him. "Anyway, I just want to say that if it has to be anyone, I'm glad that it's you…."

I place a soft, simple kiss on his cheek and feel the muscles in it twitch upward into a smile. My lips barely graze his once more before the previous intensity of our embrace returns.

And this is when the tub we're sitting alongside of promptly begins to overflow.

I scramble to stand up, disentangling my limbs from Peeta's. He stands with me, both of our pants already damp from the rising waters, and rushes to turn off the taps. As I turn away from him, suddenly feeling embarrassed from my unexpected display of affection, I feel the heat from my stomach move upward to my face. I turn off the sink faucet along with the blaring of the hair dryer.

I feel Peeta approach me from behind and am thankful for the steam that still fogs up the mirror, glad that he can't see the blush on my cheeks. He places a hand on my waist and uses the other to push my hair off my neck. I can feel his breath, warm against my ear and involuntarily shiver. My grip on the counter in front of me tightens and the feeling of butterflies in my stomach only increases.

He murmurs my name, sending another chill through me. His lips have just barely touched my neck when a loud banging cuts through the air. I stifle a laugh at the groan that comes from Peeta and move to open the bathroom door.

The cool air from the other room hits me like a brick wall, and I realize that my pants are still soaking wet. I groan as this thought hits me, and now it's Peeta's turn to laugh at me. When I look back over my shoulder at him, he's got one hand raised, waving me off as he grabs a pair of pajama pants from his dresser and moving back into the bathroom.

He comes out only a few seconds later, changed. He smiles at me, and then heads out of the room and down the stairs to see who's at the door. I slip into a dry set of pants and return to the bathroom to soak up the water from the floor with a few towels.

I'm just throwing the soaked towels into a hamper when I hear Peeta's uneven footsteps as he makes his way back down the hallway. When I hear the telltale sound of heels clicking on the floor that follow him, I turn my head just in time to see Peeta come through the bedroom door. Effie's bright green wig peaking over his shoulder is flattened in places, no doubt from the rain.

"Good news, Katniss," Peeta starts, his tone conflicting with his words. I know this his sarcasm is lost on the woman standing behind him, though. "Effie has offered to help us with the plans for the wedding. She insists that it's no problem."

I open my mouth, but before I can even get a word out, the heavily accented woman starts to speak.

"And, of course, I'll be staying right downstairs so it'll make the planning a cinch!" She turns on her heel, the clacking noises following her down the hallway. "We'll start at lunch, you two! The sooner the better!"

I turn to look at Peeta, my eyes wide. I open my mouth to speak, only to be interrupted once again. This time, it is the sound of the front door being thrown open roughly, hitting the wall behind it with a loud bang.

Haymitch's voice calls out through the house, inquiring as to why Effie was still in District 12, and not at the fancy schmancy apartment he assumes she has in the Capitol. The slight slur that I hear in his voice is proof that Prim's words from earlier were correct. The fact that he's here at all, though, still proves that even in an inebriated state, he's keeping an eye out for Peeta, so I can't be too angry.

I sigh and shrug my shoulders. We have a lot to talk about, but I know that it will have to wait.

* * *

The rain from yesterday has turned the snow that lines the street leading from the Victors' Village into town into a nasty, grey slush. Peeta and I are both careful to avoid the puddles and pileups on our way into town for Peeta's shift at the bakery. I know that he's eager to get back into the routine he had before the tour began.

After an intense 'planning session' with Effie last night, which mainly consisted of her doing all the talking, and us doing all of the nodding, she had announced how highly inappropriate she found our sleeping arrangement. She pointed out that I had my own bedroom and was adamant that I use it until the wedding.

Maybe it was because of how deeply what happened between Peeta and I yesterday scared me. Maybe it was because I was tired of hearing Effie talk, and didn't feel like arguing with her. Either way, I agreed with her almost immediately, which earned me not only my first nod of approval from Miss Trinket, but a raised eyebrow from across the table courtesy of Haymitch.

Peeta hadn't argued with me; something that I attributed to his uncanny ability to simply understand that there are just some things that I have a harder time dealing with. He just grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze to let me know that he was okay with my decision. I assured him that the second he needed me, be it due to a nightmare, or any other reason, my door was open. Hell, he knew that if he really needed me to, I would lay with him long enough to ensure that he fell asleep each night.

The roads are quiet, but as we near town, we begin to pass a few miners. They're all either on their way home from working the night shift, or headed in for the day. I keep my eyes down, careful not to step into any puddles that may soak through my shoes. Getting to sleep without Peeta last night was harder than I had expected, and my mood is already sour enough without wet feet.

I hoped that we would be able to talk about what happened yesterday, away from the threat of cameras and recording devices. We're getting close to the bakery now, and I know that I should've had started talking a long time ago. As we step into the alley leading to back entrance, the voice that I hear call out to me from a few feet away lets me know that's not going to happen.

"So you're really going to do this?"

The question hangs in the air, the owner of the deep voice it's spoken in leaning against the concrete wall of the shop beside the bakery. I look over at Gale, his arms over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles, and have mixed emotions as to how I should respond.

Seeing him, after all this time without his company, even with the cross tone in his voice, is a relief. I was beginning to think that he would never want to see me again. I should have known that news of my engagement to Peeta would bring him out of hiding. Guilt washes over me at the thought.

Peeta's hand on my shoulder brings my attention back to him. He peers down at me with questioning eyes, and I nod to let him know that everything's okay. He looks from me to Gale before offering me a small smile and entering the bakery. I look back to Gale and realize that the exchange did not go unseen on his part. The fact that there are no cameras following us has also not gone without notice. He raises an eyebrow, but I don't respond to it.

I cross the distance that separates us, and cringe as I feel the icy cold water from a puddle soak through my shoe. I grit my teeth a little, but try not to let my annoyance show too much. When I reach Gale's side, I lean back against the building, mirroring his posture.

I don't speak. I'm unsure of how to start the conversation, and not ready to address his original question. I look up at Gale, noting that he's finally gotten a haircut since the last time I saw him. His grey eyes crinkle up a little at the sides, and the look in them matches the sad smile that he offers me.

"You look different," he finally says. I watch as he stuffs his hands deep into his pockets, the old habit somewhat endearing.

"Apparently, it's called 'beauty base zero'. A lot more painful than it sounds… My skin still feels raw."

"You know that you don't need any of that crap, right?" Gale starts to take a step forward, but thinks better of it. "I guess those idiots from the Capitol are stupider than they look."

As usual, the compliment makes me uncomfortable, so I choose not to respond. I tuck my braid more securely behind my ear and swallow hard.

"Look, Catnip," Gale starts, and I force my eyes up at the familiar nickname that I've gone too long without hearing. "For once, I'm not here to fight you. My… My feelings haven't changed, but I just need to know. I just need to know if what I've been seeing on television is… If it's real, or not."

I know that he's not asking whether or not a wedding will be taking place. I know that's he's not asking if Peeta's words were true. He's pointed out to me several times that it's obvious there is no acting required when it comes to the way Peeta feels about me. I may not have accepted it in the past, but I now believe his words about my best friend to be true.

What Gale needs to know is if my actions are not only real, but also out of love.

Of course I love Peeta, but as I told the boy standing in front of me weeks ago, I love him as well. And while I'm beginning to see the differences that those two cases hold, it's more than a bit daunting for a girl who has never even possessed a simple crush to determine if she's fallen in love.

I'm not sure of how to answer him, so I reply as honestly as I can.

"I don't know, Gale."

He nods his head slowly, and takes his hands out of his pockets. His eyes become glued to the ground below for a moment, and when he finally straightens his frame, he finds my face again. The look in his eyes now is painfully reminiscent of the one I saw in them during an earlier confrontation in this exact same alleyway. My answer may have been ambiguous, but it looks as if it actually gives him some form of clarity.

My heart clenches a tiny bit inside my chest and I watch as he steps forward. He opens his arms a little, and I don't find myself hesitating at all before I step into them. He wraps me in a tight hug, my face pressed against his chest. I breathe in the scent of pine that always lingers on his clothing, and ignore the way that the smell of the mines has managed to mingle with it. I also attempt to disregard the faint trace of oranges that does nothing but brings me back to that day in the woods.

I can feel his lips as they brush the top of my head and am glad that I can't see his face. I'm feeling heavy hearted enough as it is. He lets out a long breath and I close my eyes as his chest rises and falls against me.

"I guess that's all the answer that I needed."

He lets me go and starts to walk off in the opposite direction, passed the bakery and toward the Seam. He slows in front of the bakery's large side window, and I can just barely make out Peeta through the glare that the morning sun's light is just starting to create on the glass. Gale nods his head once, and I see Peeta return the gesture.

He's almost to the end of the alleyway when he turns his torso back in my direction. He lifts one hand into the air and gives me a sort of defeated smile.

"See ya around, Catnip."

I wait until I'm inside, safe in the basement's small, cold bathroom, with the door closed behind me before I allow myself to cry.


	12. Chapter 12

When Effie suggests at dinner that we hold the wedding on Peeta's birthday, we both look at each other in disbelief. I cough a little, and he steers the attention away from me by asking the District 12 escort if she even knows what day his birthday falls on. She scoffs, as if it's the most ridiculous question anyone has ever asked her. Calmly, she takes a sip of the tea that sits on the table front of her and adjusts the lapels of the lavender blazer she's wearing.

"Of course I know, silly."

She continues to drink her tea nonchalantly, Peeta, Haymitch, and me still staring at her expectantly. When she finally realizes that we're all waiting for her to elaborate, she rolls her eyes.

"February 14th." She sighs dramatically, and places the cup down on its saucer. "Honestly, you would think that everyone here didn't realize how seriously I take my job. At any rate, I thought the date would be lovely, considering its meaning. Surely you all know that, centuries ago, it used to be a day of celebration."

We look at her blankly. I'm not sure what kind of things they teach to children in Capitol schools, but here in District 12, learning about holidays observed by the people who left our country in its current state was never deemed necessary. She expands on the subject when none of us respond.

"Valentine's Day. Named after a saint of some kind. I'm a little fuzzy on the details, really, but I do know that it was an entire day dedicated solely to celebrate love." Effie puffs out her chest a little, clearly very proud of herself. "I thought it would be perfect."

"It's also less than a month away," I offer, my eyebrows surely nearing my hairline by now.

I hear Haymitch clear his throat from across the table, and look over at him. He cocks his head to one side and runs a hand through his limp blond hair. He finally leans forward on one elbow and addresses me.

"You know, it's not such a bad idea. The Quarter Quell is coming up. Peeta will have to go back to the Capitol for that for who knows how long. Don't you think it would be best to have the wedding beforehand while you can actually pinpoint the date?"

The look that he's sending me gets his point across clearly. I look to Peeta who does nothing but nod slowly, his eyes deliberating not meeting mine. I try not to linger on this action.

Effie reaches across the table and lays her hand on my arm. It startles me at first. This is only time that she's initiated any sort of physical contact outside of straightening my posture or pushing and pulling me along. The look of sincerity in her eyes is something that I've never seen before, though, so I don't brush her off.

"Please, Katniss, don't think that I haven't kept your and Peeta's best interests in mind."

For that one sentence, the silly Capitol accent is gone. I look passed the ridiculous false eyelashes that make her eyes look as though tiny deer and butterflies have surrounded them. Her lips, though covered in a bright fuchsia gloss, are set into a thin, serious line.

When her eyes flick briefly to Peeta, their sincerity never waiving, I know.

She may be annoying. She may be prim and pompous, but she is not always as dumb as she seems. Miss Trinket knows what is to happen to Peeta, and she's trying to help me save him.

I nod my head, giving her indication that I understand and agree. I blink and the glimpse of the woman that was just in front of me is gone. She joins her hands together in front of her and even bounces a little in her seat. The excited squeal that she lets loose at my compliance makes it easy to question whether or not the last few seconds even happened.

Peeta may be a good actor, but I've just discovered that he's got nothing on Effie Trinket.

"So," a voice comes from behind me. I turn to offer him a polite smile. "Do you want to talk about this morning?"

I pull my eyes away from Peeta and lean back against the nearest tree. It's cold out, almost to the point of being unbearable, but at least the rain from yesterday has stopped. In all honesty, I hadn't gone outside to talk, having only the intention of getting away from Effie for a bit.

I think back to earlier and how Peeta hadn't pressed me for details when I'd finally emerged from the bakery's basement restroom. I'd found him, leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest. Surely I had looked a mess, my eyes and nose still red. He had merely walked me into the back room, and pushed a plate with my favorite cheese buns on it in front of me before heading back to work.

"Gale's in love with me."

The words come out louder than I intend for them to and I cringe at the volume.

I look back over my shoulder to see that Peeta is staring down at his feet. He carves a path in the snow with the heel of his boot and remains silent for a bit. When he finally does speak, he locks eyes with me and nods a little.

"I know." His voice is quiet but commands all of my attention. "I've known for a while."

"Thanks for the heads up," I scoff a little. I'm not really angry, I just can't think of another way to react. "A little warning would have been nice."

My sarcasm does not usually go unnoticed by Peeta, so I'm surprised when he doesn't respond. Looking in his direction only reveals that he's staring pointedly at spot in the distance. The furrow of his brow lets me know that his attention is not out there, somewhere in the woods, but rather wrapped up in his thoughts. I study his profile as he continues to gaze at nothing. I'm not sure how I've never noticed the length of his eyelashes before.

He exhales deeply and the sound brings me out of my reverie. He turns his attention to me and I'm caught up in how blue his eyes are against the stark white background that surrounds us. I have to blink a few times before I realize that his lips are moving.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said that I made him a promise. A trade, really. I'd keep Gale's secret, if he'd keep mine."

This confuses me. Peeta and Gale, while never really enemies, have never been good enough friends for anyone to think they'd be willing to keep secrets for one another. Hell, I've never even known them to talk to one another unless I was with them.

Aside from the day that Peeta was reaped, that is.

I remember the look on Gale's face as he had exited the room where Peeta had said his goodbyes. The look that crossed his features then had been hard to pinpoint. Over the years, I've had plenty of opportunity to study Gale's face in a wide range of emotion, but I was unfamiliar with the one that covered it that day. He had refused to even meet my eyes as he passed by me. I guess I now understand why.

"He promised me, actually I made him promise, that day that if I… If I didn't make it back he would take care of you. He would make sure that you and your family, well, that you'd be okay." Peeta smiles a little to himself. "He told me that he would do that whether I made it back, or not. That I wasn't the only one that had been in love with you for years. I didn't even know that he could tell how I felt…"

His words make my thoughts race. While I've been able to accept that Peeta's feelings for me are real, I've been unsure of their depth. It was entirely possible that he had just needed to spice up the proposal for the cameras. Entirely possible that he elaborated the details to help sensationalize the story even more.

I should have realized that Peeta would never so much as embellish the truth on such a meaningful occasion.

"I thought he was going to kill me before I even got a chance to be thrown into the arena. He was just so angry that I would presume he wouldn't take care of you. I even yelled something about how he could get as mad as he wanted, but I didn't have the time to. That my time was up."

Even though he made it home, and he's here in front of me now, my heart clenches a little at his words. Reaching forward, I pull his hands into my own. I open my mouth to speak but he speeds ahead, needing to get his next words out.

"It ended with me telling him that we were both being stupid. We both knew that you didn't need anyone to take care of you. Everyone knows that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. If I hadn't dragged you into this mess, Katniss, you wouldn't need anyone to  _protect_  you from anything  _now_."

He tips my chin up so that I'm eye level with him before he continues.

"So, yes. Katniss Everdeen, I love you… but so does he. And I'm not saying this because I think we both deserve a fair shot. I'm saying this because I know that you deserve the right to be with whoever you want. So this marriage, it's going to  _be_  whatever you need it to be. If that means that it's just a way to protect you, me, us, whoever, that's fine. If you decide that your heart lies elsewhere, be it with Gale or some other, incredibly lucky guy, that's fine, too. And if… If you can ever feel the same for me as I do for you, then that's even better. The important thing to me is that the decision is  _yours_."

"Peeta, I…"

I struggle for words. There is nothing that I've ever done that would make me truly worthy of the boy that's standing in front of me. I'm too hung up on this one thought for any words to make it out of my mouth. He squeezes my hands reassuringly. This seems to give me the push that I need in order to continue.

"I can't make you any promises. I'm… I'm not as sure of what I'm feeling right now as you are." I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry, before I can go on. I avert my eyes from his constant gaze and he allows me to. "Hell, up until recently I didn't even think that I was capable of feeling this way."

"That's fine," he starts, and I swear that I can hear a hint of a smile in the relieved sigh that leaves his lips. "I don't need any promises right now. I just, I could live without you if it made you smile, but I couldn't live with myself if you weren't happy."

The weight of his perfect words hits me like a ton of bricks and I close the distance between our lips instantly.

My cold nose bumps against his and I gasp a little when his icy hands come up to cradle my face, but it's perfect. His fingers trace my jawline as our lips move against each other's. I push my arms into his coat, wrapping them around his waist, and bringing our bodies closer.

When we part, our mingled breath hangs in the frigid air around us. Peeta looks down at me, as surprised now as he was the day before in the steamy bathroom. I smile up at him for a second before burying my face into his warm chest.

I may have said that I can't make any promises, but it's starting to feel more and more like I'm wrong.

* * *

I've never even been to a wedding before. We don't really have the big to-do's that I know the Capitol is so fond of. Instead of the frilly white dress, long aisle, bouquets of flowers, and formal ceremonies, we have what we call a toasting. I haven't been to one of those, either. I know the gist of it, though.

After the new couple does whatever needs to be done at the Justice Building to make the marriage legal, there's always a song that residents sing as they cross the threshold into their new home. The actual toasting is our own little ceremony, where the new husband and wife make their first fire together, toast a bit of bread, and share it.

Maybe it's silly, and maybe it's old fashioned. It's nothing compared to the elaborate parties they throw in the Capitol, but no one really feels married in District 12 until after their toasting.

This has been mentioned to Effie, but after comments of how 'quaint' it all seems, we knew that we wouldn't be able to get away with anything so simple. We should have known that nothing that the people of our district had to offer would prove good enough for the Capitol viewers. And, yes, there will be viewers. While we were able to talk Effie out of a live viewing, she negotiated by promising only _one_ camera would be in attendance, and that the wedding would be shown on television the day after.

It's not until the train arrives with a car full of dresses designed especially for me to choose from that I realize just how different this wedding will be.

It's two weeks before the 'big, big day' as Effie has started to call it.

Even living in the same house, Peeta and I haven't seen much of each other since all of the planning Effie had us doing is actually starting to come together. Apparently, in true Capitol fashion, the groom doesn't really have much to do, other than show up to the ceremony. While I've been holed up with Effie, my mother, Prim, and occasionally Madge, Peeta has been working longer hours at the bakery and spending more time with Haymitch.

My mother helps me into the first of the seemingly endless line of dresses. I take one look at it in the mirror and shake my head. The puffy white sleeves and high neck are not even worth showing off to Effie and Prim in the next room. After a few more immediate 'no's', Effie raps on the door impatiently. I can almost picture her, huffing in annoyance, as she taps the toe of her higher than necessary heels on the floor.

"Katniss! You must let us see them in order to get our opinion!"

I sigh and roll my eyes. When my mother stifles a laugh, I turn to her with a small grin. She opens the door for Effie to poke her head in and the look of absolute repugnance on her face is enough to send both of us into a fit of laughter. The Capitol-bred woman keeps her face as serious as possible.

"Yes, well I suppose you can keep some behind closed doors."

The few dresses that follow are not quite as bad, and I allow everyone to give their opinion on them before I change and move on to the next. I'm quieter than usual and it doesn't take long before my mother is asking me if anything is wrong.

I pick at the skin around my fingernails and bite the inside of my lip. I'm not sure that she realizes what a loaded question this really is.

"I guess I'm just scared."

My voice comes out softly and I keep my eyes down as I step into the next dress. I have forgotten how silently my mother is capable of moving and tense a little as I feel her fingers underneath my chin. She tips it up so we're looking in each other's eyes and offers me a sympathetic smile.

I must explain that I love my mother dearly, but we have not always been close. There was a period of time, after my father's death that I was nothing but angry with her. I couldn't understand how she could give up the way that she did. Regardless of whether Prim and I needed her, she completely checked out mentally. For days, she either spent her hours sitting in a chair, or lying in bed. Never saying a word or lifting a finger to help her two young daughters who were also in pain.

After Peeta essentially saved our lives by tossing those two burnt loaves of bread in my direction, she finally started to come back around. It wasn't until the very first time that he stepped foot into our house, however, that she seemed even a bit like her old self. I can still vividly recall the way that she had stood without a word, and moved into the kitchen to offer him tea. It was a small step, but one that she took each time he returned. It wasn't long until she was functioning on a conventional level once again.

I suppose that's just one more thing that I owe my best friend for.

"That's perfectly normal, you know." She leans back to sit on top of the small table behind her. "I was terrified before I married your father. Worried so much that I actually made myself sick."

I blink at this admission. We both know that when I say that I'm scared, it's much moreso about the dangers posed by the Capitol and President Snow than by the actual act of getting married. Nevertheless, her confession is news to me, and I find myself wanting to hear the details.

"My mother and father kicked me out of the house as soon as they found out that I had accepted his proposal. I was so scared. I showed up at his doorstep with just the clothes on my back and the tears on my face. His mother, God rest her soul, pulled me inside without a word and sat me down at the kitchen table as if I'd always belonged there."

My mother stops for a moment with a far off look on her face. I can only assume that she's lost in thought about the kind woman who took her in when her own parents threw her out. My grandmother died before I was born, but people still remember her kind nature.

"What happened to the fear, though?"

When she looks back up, it almost seems like she's forgotten that I'm in the same room. Before she answers, she smiles to herself. She stands back up and starts to help me into the next dress. Her fingers brush my hair off the back of my neck and I think of how grateful I am to have her here with me, despite her past actions.

"It was gone as soon as I looked into your father's eyes. With the way that he made me feel with a single look, I couldn't believe that I had been scared in the first place."

She fastens the final clasp of the dress and steps to the side so that she can see my reflection in the mirror. It's not until she gasps and her eyes begin to glisten with tears that I bother to look at myself. When I do, I can hardly believe that it's me I'm seeing.

The one-shouldered design of the dress had been a deceiving one. I had originally written it off before I even started to put it on, but looking at it now I'm glad that I didn't. Other than the singular strap over my right shoulder, the neckline sits straight across my chest, modest, but hinting at the slightest bit of cleavage. The bodice is layered and gathers into an intricate, knotlike design that the shoulder strap makes it way up from. The pleated, chiffon material makes the skirt flow easily around my hips and legs.

As my eyes travel up to my face, the smile that's tugging at my lips surprises me. I was unaware of its presence. I turn to face my mother and her eyes and nose are both red as she holds her hand up to cover her mouth. I extend my arms out from my sides, palms up, asking a question that I already know the answer to. She nods her head conclusively, and goes to open the door.

"Prim! Effie! This is it!"

Prim cries and gushes over how beautiful I look. Effie evens gets a little flustered and excuses herself from the room when she sees how I bend down to wrap my baby sister into a tight hug. She makes up some excuse about having to inform Portia that I've made my decision. Everything goes by in a flash, and it doesn't seem long before my mother and I are alone once more.

I'm back in my normal clothes and have my hand on the door to leave when I turn to face her again. She's zips the garment bag for the dress and moves to hang it in the closet.

"I don't believe for a second that you were actually scared to marry dad."

She looks over her shoulder at me, and I can see the question forming in her mind. I charge ahead with my next sentence before she has a chance to say anything, though.

"I remember the way that you looked at him... the way that he looked at you. I might not have understood it, but I remember it."

It seems like we finished with the dresses just in time because I hear the front door open downstairs. Peeta's voice as he calls my name out brings an unconscious smile to my face. Feeling my mother's hand on my arm, I turn to look at her.

"Whether or not you were able to understand it then, Katniss, I'm fairly sure that you do now."


	13. Chapter 13

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!"

The boy in front of me, though he resembled her undeniably, was nothing like his mother. I didn't really know Peeta Mellark, but given the little that I had learned about him from school, I could never picture the vile, hateful words that flowed so freely from his mother's lips ever crossing his. From what I knew, he was quiet, but popular. The smile on his face was constant, and he laughed easily.

As Mrs. Mellark's yelling in the background subsides, Peeta begins to tear the burned chunks from the two loaves of bread in his arms. His eyes never seek me out, though he has to know that I am still here. I watch as he carefully tosses the scorched portions into the pig's trough.

His head jerks back in the direction of the bakery, and for a moment I'm afraid that he's going to prove me wrong about his kind, easy going nature. He's surely going to call out to inform his mother of my presence. I catch sight of the red, sure to leave a mark, welt that stands out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with?

I'm surprised when he tosses the remainder of the bread in my direction and quickly returns to the warmth of the Mellark bakery.

Only the bread at my feet and the sunken indentions that his boots have left in the mud prove to me that the last few minutes were real.

I tuck the loaves underneath my skirt and walk away swiftly in the still falling rain. I reach home, and Prim, my mother, and I eat our first bit of warm bread since my father died. Our mother even sits at the table with us, instead of comatose in the chair by the window. I fall asleep without the feeling of hunger gnawing at my insides for the first time in months. We eat slices from the second loaf for breakfast before Prim and I head to school.

I see him in the hallway before my first class. His cheek is red and swollen and the skin around his eye has already turned black. He doesn't acknowledge me. I see him again at the end of the day as I'm waiting for Prim outside of the school. Our eyes lock for a brief moment and I want nothing more than to say 'thank you'. I don't. When he drops his eyes from mine, I turn away, embarrassed.

It's then that I spot the first dandelion of the year. It's then that I realize that I am not doomed.

The days go by more quickly. I see Peeta at school again, the spot on his face looking more and more angry each time I lay eyes on it. After a week goes by, it is obvious to me, even without my mother's training, that the wound is infected.

I continue to want to thank him. I want to offer to have my mother look at his cheek. I do neither of these things.

Time seems to fly around me; a constant blur of color and composition.

I take out my first tessarae. I survive my first reaping. I meet Gale in the woods and, over time, he becomes my best friend and closest confidant. My second reaping goes by, then my third, and my fourth. Nothing about them stands out to me.

I spend my days with Gale in the woods, or watching Prim dote over Lady and Buttercup. My mother never fully recovers from the pit of depression that she fell into after my father's death. I only smile in the woods.

We live our lives day to day, but there's always something missing. I sit alone with Madge at lunchtime during school. Prim and I walk home with the Hawthorne's each day and Gale's tirades about whatever he deems to be the most unfair that day start to sour any lightness in my being. I mention this to him once, in passing. He gives a sharp laugh and calls himself a realist. I think back to that dandelion, about the hope that it gave me, and want to point out to him that it was just as real as anything he rants about. I keep quiet instead.

There is never any laughter in our home.

My fifth reaping approaches and when Effie Trinkett pulls Peeta Mellark's name from the glass bowl in front of her, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I've never thanked him for the bread. I've never even made an attempt to do so. I watch as the blond haired, blue eyed boy that saved my life without even realizing it takes the stage and try to swallow the hatred that I feel toward the Capitol.

I watch from the television screen in our living room as he is torn apart viciously by the mutts the Gamemakers have set out upon the tributes. I cringe, but do not look away. These are Peeta's last moments and he deserves for them to be remembered, no matter how awful they prove to be. When his crystal blue eyes close and don't open again, I barely make it to the toilet before I throw up.

They send his body back home, back to District 12, in a wooden box. For some inexplicable reason, I find myself hammering the nails into its lid. His brothers, whose names I still haven't learned are yelling at me to stop. His father stands to the side, silent sobs wracking his body. Mrs. Mellark is uninterested and exits the room without acknowledging the fact her youngest son is lying dead in a box before her.

Tears stream down my face as I continue to bring the hammer down. His brothers start to pull at my arms, and I scream in frustration. Angry sobs make their way from my mouth and my chest and throat are burning. The loud, banging sound grows louder and louder.

I sit up with a loud gasp, my throat raw and face wet with tears. My bedclothes are soaked through and the sheets around me are twisted and just as soggy. The sound of my heartbeat in my ears in combination with my ragged, labored breathing is almost deafening.

It takes a moment before I realize that the intense hammering from my dream can still be heard. I let out a sigh of relief as the voice of Effie Trinket calls out from the other side of the bedroom door.

"Katniss! Katniss, open the door!"

She stops yelling and my muscles tense as the pounding begins again. I'm across the room, flinging the door open as quickly as possible. Her hand is poised, mid-air, ready to continue her knocking. Surprise crosses her face as I close my fist around hers and lower the offending limb down to her side.

"Well, good morning to you, too," she huffs. Her expression quickly becomes one of unbridled excitement. "It's going to be a big, big day!"

"I need to see Peeta."

My voice is hoarse and cracks a little on the second syllable of his name. Effie stares back at me as if I've just grown a third eye and starts to shake her head.

"Now you know you can't do that! I told you, it's customary for the bride and groom not to see each oth-"

"I  _need_  to see Peeta."

I don't know if it's the urgency that she hears in my voice or the death grip that I've got on her hand, but she nods a little before disappearing down the hallway. I've stayed the night at Haymitch's in order to fulfill the requirements of the silly tradition Effie insist we follow. I move back into the bedroom and try my best to calm my thundering heartbeat.

I lean back against the hard wood of the door and slide down to crumble into a useless heap on the floor. I tell myself over and over again that it was just a dream. That was  _not_  the way that things had happened. Thank God that wasn't the way that things had happened.

The first part of the dream was accurate; with Mrs. Mellark's screeches and Peeta tossing the bread to me in the rain. Even the fact that I didn't say 'thank you' to him the next day at school remains true to the actual events. That's where the realism of the dream comes to a decisive halt, however.

Almost an entire week passed before I ran into Peeta outside of my history class. I had seen him plenty of times, sure, but this was the first time that I'd been close enough to notice that the cut on his face was even more swollen, with a slight green tint to it.

A rush of guilt, a feeling that I wasn't entirely familar with at the time, washed over me and before I knew what I was doing, I had grabbed hold of his forearm. I remember the way that he didn't resist at all as I pulled him across the hallway and into an empty alcove. He remained completely quiet and pliant as I had turned his chin in my hand in order to get a better look at his cheek.

Once I pulled my eyes from the wound and became aware of just what it was that I was doing, I became embarrassed and looked away. Peeta continued to stand in front of me, not questioning my actions in the slightest.

"You should come by my house... Have my mother look at that for you."

I looked up to see the boy in front of me nodding his head in agreement. It's easy for me to recall how blue his eyes seemed to me as I looked into them. The small smile that crossed my face was unexpected, but I couldn't seem to make it disappear.

I can't wrap my head around what this dream was trying to tell me. I've never tried to imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn't stopped Peeta in the hallway that day, but it seems like I just got a glimpse of it whether I wanted to, or not. I've never been so shaken by something that I know isn't true before.

It feels as if an eternity has passed before I hear a quiet knock on the other side of the door. Peeta's voice asking if I'm okay brings me out of my reverie and I immediately stand. I start to open the door, but he stops me before I can get too far.

"Effie says that I can talk to you, but I can't see you." He pauses and I can picture him rolling his eyes. "She's even sitting a chair at the end of the hallway to make sure that we follow her orders... Katniss, is everything okay?"

I take a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth. I'm almost embarrassed by how much better I feel just from hearing his voice. My silence must go on for a beat too long because Peeta calls out my name once more.

"Katniss?"

"I'm okay, Peeta. I'm okay now... I think. I just had to see you, or I guess hear your voice in this case..."

I lean my face against the cool, smooth wood and grip the edge of the door with one hand. It doesn't take long before I feel his cover it, and I smile at the way his fingers intertwine with mine. I marvel at the contrast of my tanned skin against his pale complexion. I hear the small sigh he gives just before he starts to speak again.

"What happened? Are you sure you're okay?"

"Just a terrible dream is all... It was like my subconscious was trying to show me what my life would've been like without you in it..."

I feel his fingers tighten around mine.

"And how did that turn out?"

I let out a short, humourless laugh.

"I don't even want to talk about it."

"Weeeelllll," he drags out the word and I can hear the smile in his voice. "I guess that just goes to show you how awesome I really am and how absolutely honored you should feel to know me."

I know that he's joking; making light of the situation in order to make me feel better. I can't bring myself to laugh, though. Not when his words are so completely and utterly true. Instead I yank the door open just enough so that I can see his face and nothing else. I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him firmly, just long enough to get my point across before I hear the yelp of disapproval from Effie down the hallway.

His eyes are still shut when I close the door between us.

* * *

I can hear the string quartet that Effie brought in from the Capitol through the big, oak double doors of the largest meeting hall inside the Justice Building. After we're done in this room, we'll be heading to the ballroom for the reception. Before this morning, I didn't even know that it  _had_  a ballroom. Apparently, it does. And apparently, it's large enough to house the hundred plus guests that our district's escort has invited to the wedding.

I don't even know the names of a hundred people I would invite to anything. When we were told this little tidbit of information, though, Peeta just nodded. I guessed that if it didn't alarm him, I would be okay with it as well.

I nervously bring a hand up to touch the mockingjay pin that Portia had worked into the updo she'd created with my hair. My 'something old', she said. I had tried desperately to tell her that it might not be the smartest idea, but she had been more insistent than usual with her decision. Still, even with the contamination it now carried since President Snow had laid his eyes on it, it is nice to have a small piece of my father with me today.

My mother, along with Prim and Madge (who have both been given the duty of being a bridesmaid, whatever that is) have already crossed the threshold into the large room. As I wait for my cue, I feel Haymitch sidle up next to me. I look over at the older man and try not to look surprised at his state of appearance. His hair is combed back from his face and, even after spending the majority of the afternoon dealing with Effie, the smell of liquor is noticeably absent.

"Don't look so surprised," he says with a grin as he offers me his elbow. I loop my arm through it and continue to stare at him. "There'll be booze at the reception."

I scrunch up my nose and roll my eyes at him. He laughs and I resist the urge to admit that I feel as if I could use a drink myself. Instead, I try to play it cool, but I can tell the second that he realizes that I'm shaking. He doesn't say anything, but places his free hand over the one that I have linked through his elbow. He takes a deep breath and squeezes my fingers with his.

"You ready to do this, sweetheart?"

I nod my head as the doors in front of me open. He takes a step forward and my feet blindly follow him. The decision to have Peeta's mentor walk me down the aisle was much easier than one would think. Even with the lack of choices available to me, after everything that the man had done, not only for Peeta but for my family as well, it was simple to ask him. He had pretended to weigh the pros and cons before agreeing, but it was just an attempt at humor to cover up how touched I think he truly felt.

I cling to Haymitch's arm as we make our way down the aisle. The weight of the moment has hit me, and I find that I'm unsteady on the heels that Portia presented me with this morning. My focus is solely on the floor in front of me as I put one foot in front of the other.

It's not until I'm halfway down the aisle that I raise my eyes to look at some of the faces in the crowd.

Most of them I recognize from school, though their names currently evade me. Peeta has always been well liked and I'm sure that they're mostly friends of his. I spot a few faces from the Hob, obviously uncomfortable in such a formal setting. Hell, if I'm as uncomfortable as I am, there's no telling how they're feeling right now. Mayor Undersee is seated in one of the first few rows and I'm surprised to see that his wife has joined him.

I'm also surprised when I see the Hawthorne's, sitting in the row behind my mother. I watch Posy's sweet baby face peer up at me from Hazelle's lap and realize how long it's been since I've spent time with them. Vick looks bored, and is pulling at the collar of the shirt that I'm sure his mother had to force him into. Rory's eyes are glued to the spot where Prim stands near the front of the room in the simple, midnight blue dress that matches the one that Madge wears. The person in the seat next to him has his glued to me, however. I summon a small smile to my face and offer it to Gale. He nods a little, and the smile he gives me seems genuine, despite the pain that infiltrates it. He pulls his eyes away from mine and looks down at the floor.

When I see that we're nearing the end of our path, I look in the only direction that I have neglected thus far. When I see Peeta waiting there, it seems as if things are moving in slow motion. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears and everything else fades into a low hum.

I watch as a smile breaks across his face and my hands start to sweat onto the wrap of the bouquet I'm holding. His eyes somehow seem even bluer than usual and the look in them makes me feel instantly more at ease. The muscles in my face start to twitch and it takes a few seconds for me to realize that it's because I'm smiling so widely. Before I know it, Haymitch is offering me to Peeta and Prim carefully takes my flowers from me.

When my hands are securely in Peeta's, I'm bewildered when the beating of my heart only increases in intensity. He smiles down at me and I can't help myself from admiring how handsome he looks. The raven black suit that he wears has been tailored to fit him perfectly, the tie and vest that go with it matching the blue of the bridesmaids' dresses precisely. His hair is pushed off his forehead, and while it does look nice, this is not the Peeta that I am familIar with.

A man that I somewhat recognize has started to speak, signaling to me that the ceremony is now underway. I'm unable to pay him any attention, however, and lift a hand to lightly muss my groom's hair. There; he looks more like himself now. I cringe a little at my actions, suddenly aware of just what I've done, but Peeta just brings the offending hand to his lips and places a small kiss across my knuckles.

Over the sound of my still-pounding heart, I vaguely make out the light chuckles from the crowd. A gasp of what sounds like disapproval comes from the area where Mrs. Mellark is seated, but I pay it no mind. I am far too focused on the casual, crooked smirk on the face of my best friend. My best friend who, in a few short moments, will be my husband.

I don't realize until Peeta starts to speak that we're already to the point in the ceremony were the vows are to be said. He stares into my eyes as he repeats the words the officiator instructs him to. His voice is loud enough for everyone to hear, but has a sincere and quiet quality to it that lets me know that the words he's saying are only for me.

When my turn comes my voice sounds funny to me; under water and a million miles away. I wouldn't be surprised if the entire thing came out in a whisper. Peeta slips the ring on my finger. I flounder a little as I go to do the same for him.

My hands are shaking so badly that he has to help me. When he does I look up at him, and I just know. My breath hitches in my throat and the pounding in my ears stops altogether. It's just like my mother said.

Regardless of the much stranger than usual circumstance we find ourselves in, this single look from Peeta makes me wonder why I was so scared of marriage in the first place.

The words 'you may now kiss your bride' ring through the air. Peeta's lips have descended onto mine somewhere in between 'may' and 'now'. He holds my face in his hands and I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer.

There are far too many witnesses for my liking, but for a moment, I let myself forget that we are in a room filled with over a hundred people. I disregard the cameraman that I'm sure is filming only a few feet away. I even push the thoughts of my little sister's presence, and pour every ounce of certainty that I'm feeling into this kiss. Peeta's hands move from my face, one down to grip my waist and the other splayed across the middle of my back. When we break apart, our smiles mimic one another's.

In a flash, we've been given the cue to exit back down the aisle, waited the appropriate amount of time for our guests to relocate to the ballroom, and have been introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Peeta Mellark in front of the inhabitants of said ballroom.

In no time, we are left alone in the middle of everyone for our first dance together as husband and wife. Peeta places one hand on my waist and holds my other safely in his. The song, one that I don't recognize, is much too short and I soon find myself outside of the safe cocoon his arms had offered.

The remainder of the night passes in a blur. Congratulations from people that I've known all my life are mixed in with those that I've never met before. The cake is cut and I know immediately what Peeta has been working on during all of those extras hours at the bakery this past week. There is more dancing and, as I watch the residents in attendance fill the dancefloor, I'm happy that they've been given this opportunity to enjoy themselves and to be carefree. Even if it is just for tonight.

I don't get to spend much of the evening with Peeta. It seems as if each time we manage to make our way back to one another, a new distraction comes along to separate us. I smile at him from across the room as often as I can and he returns the expression.

It's almost time for us to make our exit according to Effie. I thank Vick for the dance, telling him I'm impressed by the low numbers of time he managed to step on my toes. He laughs and I leave to gather Peeta. I find him near the punchbowl, surrounded by a few of his friends from school that I don't know very well. When I walk over, I'm just in time to see the tallest one, I think his name is Jackson, place an affable slap across his back.

"All that I'm saying is have fun tonight, man!"

The other guys start to laugh and Peeta just turns an embarrassing shade of red. Usually so good with words, I watch as he opens his mouth to speak several times, but no words make their way out. I can tell the teasing is about to begin, and while it's not a subject that I have anything to say about either, I feel the need to step in and rescue him.

I slip in between him and the boy on his left, looping my arm through Peeta's. Before any of his friends can say anything, I turn his face with my hand and bring his mouth down onto mine. His surprise is warranted since I'm sure, given the timing, he knows I'm aware of the current topic of conversation.

I don't let it stop me, though. His lips are warm and wet, and I can still taste the cake and the sweet, yet bitter hint of the champagne we toasted with earlier. Once his shock has worn off, Peeta manages to throw himself into the kiss with a fervor that wasn't there before. Momentarily, we forget that we have an audience until Jackson lets out an uncomfortable cough. We untangle ourselves and I lean up to kiss the skin just below his ear.

"Think that'll shut him up?" My whispered words make Peeta smile and he kisses the tip of my nose in response.

We turn away from each and face the boys that have just witnessed our exchange. It's funny how I find myself more uncomfortable around these people that I've spent my whole life attending school with than all of the television cameras and citizens of the Capitol. I push those thoughts aside as I grab Peeta's hand tightly in mine.

"Thanks for coming, guys," I smile at them the best that I can. "but I think that it's time that Peeta and I get home..."

Letting my voice trail off, I lift my chin back up to look at Peeta. I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth and drag him away from the group before anything else can be said. Peeta turns to look over his shoulder and offer them a goodbye wave with his eyebrows raised. I elbow him in the side and he laughs.

Soon we find ourselves rushing through a sea of people toward the car that will bring us back to the house. I don't recall anything about the ride other than the fact that my hand is clutched tightly in Peeta's. We reach his house and the car rolls to a stop. We walk up the steps of the front porch, hand in hand, and turn to watch as it drives away.

I turn to face him and he smiles over at me. We stand there for a few minutes and the silence that surrounds us is refreshing after so many months of never having a moment of it. When the chill in the air finally effects me and I begin to shiver, Peeta pulls me close. I'm surprised when he pulls my feet out from underneath me and lifts me to his chest as if I weigh nothing. I guess all of those years of hauling around bags of flour at the bakery have made it easy for him.

"What are you doing?" I laugh.

"Effie told me, and I quote, 'It is customary for the husband to carry his new bride across the threshold of their home to begin their new life together in the proper fashion'!"

His voice is high and the ridiculous and makes me laugh even harder. I consent to his actions and settle my head against him. Once we're inside the front door, Peeta lowers me onto my feet. I stumble a little on my heels and fall right into his chest, his arms immediately coming up to wrap around my waist.

I'm happy for the warmth of his arms in combination with the glow from the fireplace. When I feel Peeta's shaky exhalation across the top of my head, ruffling my hair, I turn my face upward. His eyes have grown darker and are filled with an intensity that stills the breath in my throat.

He slowly unwraps his arms from my waist, but doesn't back away. The look in his eyes keeps me glued in place, and I wouldn't dare extend the space between us. He blinks and I find myself leaning forward, closer to his body, until my chest is flat against his ribcage. The languid movements of one of his hands traveling up my arm, and the other to the small of back, cause me to release a small sigh.

When his hand finally reaches my neck and wanders to my jawline, I shiver as he traces the outline of my ear with the tip of his finger. Peeta's increases the pressure on my back and it causes my hips to lay flush against his body. I let out a noise that I don't think I've ever made before and it seems to be just the encouragement that he needs. He lays a soft kiss on my neck, followed by one on my jawline, and finally another just below my ear. I make that sound again and his voice comes out broken and gravelly when he says my name.

All at once, everything is too warm, but I don't dare back away. With the fire that has suddenly ignited in the pit of my stomach, I could easily heat the entire house. When I pull away just far enough to meet his eyes, it is my undoing.

My lips crash into his and he brings me even closer. His mouth slants to cover mine and when he lightly pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, I grip the lapels of his jacket tightly. I take a few steps backward, bringing Peeta with me. Once the back of my knees come in contact with the couch, I begin to lower our bodies onto it. I feel his hesitation, but I assure him that there's nothing to be hesitant about by increasing the depth of the kiss. He rolls us on our sides and for a brief moment, I'm afraid he's going to attempt to get up. He surprises me when he pulls my body on top of his with what seems like zero effort.

The next time we part for air, the fire in my belly has only grown in both size and ferocity. The juncture between my legs is throbbing in way that I've never experienced before, and from my position, lying atop him, it's easy to see that Peeta finds himself in a similar situation. Over the course of our living together, I've woken up several times to feel Peeta pressed against my back. This is the first time that I've felt it in direct correlation to something that I've done, however. The odd sense of pride that rushes through me is foreign.

Somewhere along the way, the top three buttons of his shirt have come undone. It's a shock, though not an unwelcome one, to discover that the position of his hands outside my dress leaves his fingertips lightly grazing the sides of my breasts. Our breathing comes in short, shallows gasps and his eyes have gone almost completely dark. I feel particularly brave as I place a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his exposed chest and feel his hips involuntarily buck upward to meet mine. His hands grip at my dress even tighter than before, burning my skin through the thin fabric. My hands tremble as I place another kiss on his chest, trying to undo the next button of his shirt.

"Katniss," he starts, and I barely hear him over the sound of the blood rushing in my head. "Katniss are you...?"

I know what he's asking. He needs to know if I'm sure about what we're doing... about where we're taking this.

To be honest, I hadn't given much thought to what this night would be like. I knew what was expected of newly married couples on their first night together as man and wife, though Peeta and I don't fit the typical description. Whether I had anticipated this, or not, I know what feels right and what doesn't.

Not trusting my voice, I answer him the only way that I know how; with a kiss that's sincerity says more than I ever could with words.

Peeta's hands become tangled in my hair and I hear the clang of my mockingjay pin hitting the floor. My hair hits my back as his fingers slide underneath the one strap of my dress, slipping it over my shoulder. I finally have the very last button of his shirt undone, my small hands splayed across the muscles of his abdomen, when a loud clicking sound startles us apart.

I turn my head just as the Capitol anthem begins to play and feel my stomach drop as the horrible image of the last man I'd ever want to see fills the screen. The camera is tight on his face and it's almost as if he's in the room with us.

President Snow begins to speak and, despite the heat that was overwhelming just seconds before, the entire room seems to grow cold.


	14. Chapter 14

"Congratulations to the Victor of the 74th annual Hunger Games, Peeta Mellark, and his new wife, the lovely Katniss, on their very recent marriage. We here at the Capitol wish you both the best of luck in all of your future endeavors."

A shiver runs down my spine at President Snow's words and my stomach fills with dread.

"As stated in numerous newscasts over the last few days, a recap of the wedding will be aired tomorrow evening, at 6PM. I urge everyone to stay tuned afterward for a very special announcement regarding this year's upcoming Quarter Quell."

The camera pulls back, offering us a view of not only President Snow's face, but the ever-present white rose fixed to his lapel. Just seeing it on the television screen turns my stomach. There is no official sign off, no goodbye, just a slightly crooked smirk on the older man's mouth. It feels as if he's staring straight into my eyes and I shudder at the thought.

Once the screen fades to black and his image has been replaced by the Capitol symbol, Peeta and I turn to look at each other. The fear that I feel is reflected back to me in his eyes. By now, we're both sitting upright, our backs as straight as boards. Our hands are still intertwined, but it's obvious that the fire in both of our bellies has been extinguished.

Peeta stands, but as soon as I start to follow him, he motions for me to stay put. He leaves the room without a word, headed toward the kitchen and I watch him until he disappears from view. Once he's gone, I stare down at my hands, and try my best to calm my nerves. Peeta returns to find me twisting my wedding band nervously around my finger. He sinks down on the couch beside me and offers me a mug of hot chocolate. I smile as widely as I can muster and take it from his hand.

We sit in silence until our cups are drained and nothing remains of the fire but embers. Peeta leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and turns to face me again.

"Ready for bed?"

I nod and he stands, offering me his hand as he does so. We climb the stairs slowly, neither of us able to show much enthusiasm for anything at the moment. Once we're changed and in bed, we lay, shoulders touching and lips closed for at least an hour before Peeta finally speaks.

"He has pretty impeccable timing, doesn't he?"

There is a split second before my laugh, loud and sharp, cuts through the thick silence of the house. Peeta soon joins me, turning his face to place his forehead against mine. Our laughter dies down and we're left sharing breathing space, staring into each other's eyes. The fire from earlier is decidedly gone, but to my surprise, there is now a constant, low burn from simply being near him.

He hesitantly places a hand on my jaw. His eyes bore into mine as he slowly leans in. Our lips meld together and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. He doesn't press for anything more than this one endearment, and pulls me in to rest my head against his broad chest. I wrap my arm around his torso and turn my face upward to lightly place a kiss on his jawbone. He pulls me closer and it feels like hours pass before either of us fall asleep.

* * *

Seeing myself on television is something that I don't think I'll ever get used to. Watching Peeta, after doing so for the weeks he was away in the Games, is like an old hobby, however.

So as we watch the airing of our wedding, it's his face on the screen that I turn my focus to.

A fluttery feeling appears in my stomach as he takes my hand into his while we watch. My mother and Haymitch share a look that makes my cheeks burn as I notice it from the corner of my eye. When Prim giggles, I give her a look that would normally silence her, but I find that it does no good tonight. Peeta just runs his thumb over the outside of mine and I return my attention to the television.

We say 'I do' on the screen. We kiss. There are even a few minutes that cover the reception, followed by us leaving the Justice Building in what Effie refers to as a 'town car'. Everyone in the room watches the program's entirety, regardless of the fact that we were all there. We each know what happened.

We didn't tune in tonight for the recap of the wedding.

The Capitol seal appears on the screen and everyone freezes, as if we're afraid to even move.

For the second time in 24 hours, we are forced to endure the presence of President Snow in our house, via television screen. He's standing in the middle of a large stage that is similar, if not the same one that Peeta was interviewed on all those months ago. A small boy, clad in a solid white suit stands beside him, a wooden box clutched in his hands. He is probably one of the few, maybe the only, child to set foot on this stage without the fear of death hanging over his head.

I don't listen to his speech about the Dark Days. I've spent far too many years, standing in the hot summer sun, stomach torn apart by nerves, hearing a similar lecture from Mayor Undersee. It's always been bad enough having him explain it; President Snow's involvement somehow makes it sound even worse.

He goes on about the significance of the Quarter Quell. Something about how it would serve as a reminder of those that were killed by the districts' rebellion three quarters of a century ago. I lower my head, focusing on my hand clasped safely in Peeta's. It's not until Snow begins to go into detail about the 50th Quarter Quell that I stop trying to desperately block out his words.

I look to Haymitch, the winner of the event the man on the screen speaks about. He reaches for the flask in his jacket's inner pocket and lets out a shaky breath when he comes away empty handed. Prim smirks at him in a way that says she's sorry, but not at the same time. He offers her the best smile that he can and promptly stands; walking to the window, he avoids having to look at the man on the television since he is unable drink in order to ignore him.

"And now," I jerk my head back toward the screen. "we honor our third Quarter Quell."

He faces to the young boy, who in turn lifts the lid from the box in his hands. The camera allows us a glimpse inside and we see rows of small, yellowed with age, envelopes. The President removes one with a clear '75' written on the front. Everyone watches with interest as he pulls out the small card that will determine the fate of the next Games.

The similarities between the envelope in Snow's hands now and the one that was attached to the roses he sent us not very long ago are not lost on me. While our envelope had not been weathered with age, the size and shape were identical. Even the notecard inside had been indistinguishable from the one he holds between his fingers now. I feel Peeta's grip on my hand tighten and know that he's seeing the same connection.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that families were separated, torn apart, and decimated by their choice to initiate violence, all siblings of the selected tributes that are within the official reaping age of 12 to 18 years old will also be sent into the arena."

The wave of nausea that hits me is overwhelming. Again, it feels as if the President's eyes are boring into my own. It's as if he's speaking to me, and only me. Something like this happening was always a possibility, of course. The subtle warnings while in the Capitol, the message on the card accompanying our flowers. Hell, the card alone was a message in itself.

Somehow, I have managed to underestimate the man.

I look to Peeta, who has no siblings left within reaping age. I look to Prim; sweet, innocent, beautiful Prim. Prim, who is just the right age, and just the right ammunition. There is no doubt in my mind that this Quarter Quell was not planned out years in advance, like all of the rest. No, this was planned out especially for me.

I know that I'll be in that arena. I know that I'll be fighting my hardest to make sure that my little sister is the last one standing; fighting to make sure that she comes home. One glance at Peeta tells me that he knows this. The pained look in his eyes tells me that he does not want it, that he's outraged even. But he understands that this is what I will do and there's no stopping me.

President Snow realizes this, too, of course. He knows the best way to eliminate the threat that he somehow sees in me. He knows that Primrose is an even bigger weakness for me than Peeta is.

I'm nothing but an insignificant, 17 year old girl from the poorest district in our nation. My father might have been a rebellion leader before he was killed. I might be married to our most recent Victor; one of the most well-loved there's ever been. These things might be true, but I still feel like that lost, little girl, trying to feed her family to get them through the winter.

This insignificant, 17 year old girl seems to scare and threaten the President of Panem, though, and I tell myself that has to stand for something.

* * *

Prim accepts her fate much easier than I thought she would.

We spend our days preparing ourselves the best that we can. Huddled around a small firepit that he's built in the backyard, Peeta shares with us anything that he thinks may help inside the arena.

I teach Prim to climb trees. While she lacks the upper body strength that I possess, she is much quicker. Once she gets the hang of it, she is able to perch herself on branches high above the ones that I come to rest on due to being so much lighter. Lessons on how to skin animals in order to feed herself don't go as well. Her kind hearted nature barely allows for her to swat flies, much less kill a furry, woodland creature. Her foraging skills will hopefully make up for this weakness.

Prim and my mother force me to study their book on healing plants and remedies. Part of me wants to kick myself for not paying closer attention when they'd worked on patients in our home over the years. The other part of me hopes desperately, and more than likely in vain, that I will not have to use any of this knowledge.

We do little other than train, conditioning our bodies for the all but guaranteed abuse we'll be put through in just a couple of months. I think we all realize that there's no way to condition our minds for it, though.

Haymitch is more helpful than I would have ever suspected. While he goes easy on Prim when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, he holds back very little while teaching me. I get my fair share of bruises, but he's always very careful to show me just where I made the mistake that lead to the them. He's also very cautious about just where on my body I'll be struck. We needn't have anyone suspicious about our activities.

It's two days before the Reaping. We're in the backyard, far enough back to go without being seen by any passersby. A simple training exercise, more hand-to-hand with Haymitch. I weave right when I should have gone left. I see the hit coming before I feel it, but by then it's too late. The sharp pain of my bottom lip splitting causes me to stagger backward, my hand going up to cover my mouth. When I bring it back down, it's covered in blood and I immediately know I won't be able to leave the house to go into town until it's fully healed.

Haymitch's shrug of indifference is expected.

Peeta's reaction is not.

It's late in the evening, after dinner even, around the time that we would usually call it quits and retire for the night. I assume this is what we'll do as I'm anxious to clean myself up in a hot bath, and then fall asleep between the sheets. So when Peeta pushes up his sleeves and steps toward his mentor, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, I'm not sure what to think.

"Alright, Haymitch. Let's demonstrate to Katniss how having her lip busted by you could've been prevented."

The older man snorts a little as he takes a step back. He holds his hands up in front of him, palms out.

"Don't worry, boy. Her face'll be back to pretty in no time."

He barely has time to bring his forearm up to block the punch that Peeta throws at his head.

Within seconds, they are engaged in a full blown scuffle. They are pretty evenly matched for the most part, but after a few minutes, their individual advantages are obvious. Haymitch is quicker, despite his age; his opponent's prosthetic leg being a major factor there. Peeta is much more muscular, making the impact of his hits more substantial.

I find myself glad that Prim has already gone inside for the night. I know that if she were to bear witness to what I am, she would beg and plead for them to stop. That's something that I can't do. While I don't want for either of the men in front of me to be hurt, I also sense their current need to let the anger out of their systems.

I've been selfish again, not thinking how Prim and I being sent into the arena will affect those closest to us. Peeta has been on that list of people for years, whereas Haymitch is a much more recent addition. You'd have to be blind not to see how much he adores my little sister, though. I would even dare to go as far as saying that he may have a slight attachment to me as well.

So here they are. A boy who made a promise to make his way back to me, only to find out that he's going to lose me whether he likes it, or not. And a man who has spent his entire life alone, now faced with the prospect of losing part of the patchwork family he's just recently formed.

They've both have been so focused on helping us; pouring all of their time and attention into preparing us. While they both lose themselves in the punches that they're throwing, I can clearly see the inner turmoil they've been experiencing boil to the surface.

The older man has Peeta by the neck of the thin t-shirt that he wears, his jacket laying forgotten on the grass a few feet away. No words are spoken between the two, their eyes and the intensity within them, say more than enough. When he wraps his arms around Haymitch's waist and pushes him to the ground, the sight of his back where his shirt is raised grabs my attention.

The way that his muscles shift and bulge with certain movements causes something to stir inside of me that, given the situation, I almost feel ashamed of. After a few moments of rolling around, neither gaining anything on the other, they finally come to a stop. Both out of breath; they lie on their backs, staring up at the darkening sky. I can't pull my eyes away from the movements of Peeta's chest as it rises and falls. Sweat has dampened his brow and his blond curls are plastered to his forehead.

A tiny bit of blood is trickling its way down from his nose, and he catches my eye as he wipes it away with the back of his hand. My mouth is slightly agape and I swallow hard as he moves to stand up. He gets close enough for me to see how his eyes have darkened and I suddenly feel as if I've just run a mile; my chest moving up and down at a faster pace as my breathing grows ragged.

I bring my hand up to wipe at the blood still smeared underneath his nose. His eyes flutter closed at the contact and my stomach tightens. He lightly grabs my wrist and he begins to swiftly pull me toward the house. As the back door swings closed, I swear that I can hear a loud, dry laugh coming from Haymitch.

As soon as we're inside, Peeta bends down and places a hand behind my knees, scooping me up into his arms. I inhale quickly, his movements taking my breath. The thick, heady smell of the sweat on the skin of his neck fills my nostrils and I'm surprised at how quickly I'm intoxicated by it.

By the time that the fog that's infiltrated my head has cleared, Peeta has climbed the stairs to the second level. He sets me on my feet as soon as we walk through the door to the bedroom. He takes my face into his hands and attacks my lips with a ferocity I've never felt from him before. There's a sting due to my split lip, but I barely notice it at all. I feel the cool, hard wood of the wall against my back as he presses me into, his lips never relenting. It takes me an undetermined amount of time before I realize that I'm returning the kiss with equal enthusiasm, equal need, equal urgency.

I feel his hands slip from my face, making their way down the sides of my neck. He pushes down slightly on my shoulders, causing my hands to drop from their spot, linked behind his neck. His hands continue their journey south, fingers easily forming restraints around my wrists. He places hot, open-mouthed kisses on the side of my neck that cause me to writhe underneath him in a way that would be embarrassing in any other situation. When he gently sucks on my collarbone, the shudder than runs through me is overwhelming. I'm vaguely aware that he's raised my arms above my head, his hands keeping them firmly against the wall.

"Peeta..." My voice comes out in a strangled whisper and he almost growls in response.

He lets go of one of my hands and helps to guide my leg up over his hip. This closeness reminds me of the night of our wedding; the fire in my stomach only magnified by the feel of him, hard and pressed against me. As he slides the collar of my shirt out of the way, placing more kisses and nipping gently at the flesh he uncovers, I experimentally grind my hips against his. I'm unsure of what I'm doing, but I am rewarded with not only a low moan from Peeta's lips, but an unexpected rush of warmth through the very pit of my belly.

He grips my thigh tightly, pressing me even closer against his body. Breathing becomes even more difficult, as if something heavy has been laid on my chest. When he releases the hand still above my head, he pulls my other leg up over his hip as well. I wrap both legs tightly around Peeta's waist and stiffen for a fraction of a second when I feel one of his hands cups itself against the curve of my backside. His lips return to mine though, and I melt back into his embrace instantly.

His strength shouldn't surprise me. Peeta has always been strong, but the way that he traverses the path to the bed, bad leg and all - backward, with me wrapped around him, never breaking our kiss, is nothing short of remarkable to me. He holds me tightly to his chest as he lets himself fall back onto the plush mattress. He rolls us over to where his body is positioned above mine. When he pulls his face back to look at me, the expression on his face, the intensity of it, should make me squirm. It doesn't though, instead giving me a courage that I wasn't even aware that I needed.

My fingers tug at the bottom of his shirt and within seconds, it's tossed somewhere over his shoulder. Despite the number of times I've seen Peeta shirtless, the wide expanse of his bare chest leaves me with an urgent desire to touch it. I bring my hand up in front of me, trailing my palm over the muscles of his chest and then down to his stomach, appreciating the definition of it. I bite my bottom lip and immediately hiss as I realize my mistake. Peeta leans down and places a soft kiss over my injury and his tenderness swiftly becomes my undoing.

Once again, my legs are wrapped around his hips and I pull his torso down so that it covers mine completely. It feels like I'm melting into his kiss. So when his lips finally leave mine, it leaves me feeling cold and empty. My legs fall from behind him, knees bent at his sides, keeping him from rolling away still. I keep my eyes closed, not quite ready to pull myself out of this moment, making the sudden feeling of his lips on the exposed skin of my stomach a shock. I gasp audibly and his fingers roll the fabric of my shirt up just a little farther. He places another kiss on my stomach, following the trail of fire that his fingers are leaving on my skin with each inch they travel upward.

When I feel him remove his lips from my ribcage, hands stilling on their journey, my lids flutter open to look at Peeta. His eyes are lowered to where his fingers currently rest, pushed slightly underneath the rolled up hem of my shirt, just below the curve of my breast. I can feel the slight tremor that's running through them as he looks up at me, as if asking permission. While the Peeta from just a few seconds ago, in charge and urgent, is nice, the one in front of me now, careful and unsure, endears him to me even more.

I lean forward and place my hands over his, quickly bringing their shaking to the stop. As I slowly bring his hands upward, his eyes darken once more and the fervor with which he acted before is back in an instant. He peels the shirt from my body and it joins his somewhere behind him. Within seconds, I find myself lying before him in nothing but an old pair of dirtied and torn pants and a simple, light blue bra. He seems to drink in my form with his eyes and reverently runs his fingers from my shoulders to my hips, brushing the sides of my chest and causing me to sigh.

I should feel uncomfortable. I should be squirming under his gaze, but I'm not. In this moment, everything feels right.

In a sudden moment of bravery, I prop myself up the best that I can, reaching behind my back to undo the clasp of my bra. He unconsciously pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as I slide the straps down my arms. This simple action only adds more fuel to the ever-growing fire that I feel. I throw the garment to the floor and bring him down quickly into another heated kiss. The way that his unclothed chest feels as it presses against mine is more pleasant than I could have ever thought.

His hands, currently cupping my cheeks, move to explore my newly uncovered flesh. I arch into his touch, so familiar yet incredibly foreign in this situation. After a moment, him touching me, though exhilarating, is simply not enough. Through the haze that's clouding my mind, I think to myself that surely I shouldn't be the only one to experience such treatment. Of course, when he moves to roll my nipple in between his thumb and index finger, my mind draws a complete blank. I find myself hissing and pulling his lower lip into my mouth. Gauging my reaction, he takes the other between his fingers and repeats the movement. I break the kiss and lean up to place my lips to his earlobe. His hips buck slightly as I suck on the soft piece of flesh there.

He lowers his head, kissing my neck, my collarbone, and the spot where my sternum dips in between my breasts. Again, I sense that he needs permission, which I give him the best way I know how. I arch my back into him again, our hips flush against each other. As he explores one breast with his mouth, placing soft kisses and gently nibbling at the skin, his hand gently caresses the other.

If it weren't for my skin, smoldering and feeling stretched thin against everything that I'm feeling inside, I'm sure I would fly apart; breaking into a million pieces.

Once I finally feel as if I have control over my limbs, I grip Peeta's side tightly. I move to rake my short nails down his back and he presses himself against me in reward. I'm surprised that my hand doesn't shake as I move it to the zipper of his pants.

"Katniss..."

His voice is rough and more of a whisper than anything else. He lays his head on the juncture between the two sides of my ribcage and I can feel his breath, hot against my stomach. Taking my free hand, I gently push it through his hair. I brush my fingers behind his ear and his exhale on my skin is shaky.

"Peeta..."

My reply comes out in a playful tone that I'm not sure I've ever used before. I can almost sense his smile before he lifts his head to look at me. The look in his eyes is more than I can stand as I continue my movements. He shifts upward and places a kiss on my shoulder as I push the pants over his hips. Curious, I allow the back of my hand to brush the bulge in his underwear. The strangled sound that comes from Peeta's mouth is something that I'm quite sure I'll never forget.

Before I can blink, my pants have followed suit; lying in the unceremonious pile of clothing we've discarded. Peeta wraps his hands around my waist and positions us both to where we're lying on our sides, facing one another. We continue to kiss as his hand snakes around to my back, lying just above the waistband of my underwear. He runs his palm along the curve of my bottom and dips his fingers underneath the elastic just beside my hipbone. The skin there is sensitive and while it doesn't tickle, the sensation is similar. I throw my leg over his thigh and relish in the feel of him pressed against my center.

"Katniss, I...," his eyes are hooded and he has a tiny bit of blood and dirt streaked across his face from earlier. I don't think that I've ever seen him more beautiful. I lean forward to kiss him softly before he continues. "I don't want to do anything that you... that you don't want to..."

I don't know where the courage comes from, but I slide a hand down between our bodies and cup him in my palm. The kisses that I trail from his collarbone to his ear are wet and sloppy. I hook my fingers into the sides of his underwear and start to remove them.

"I want this, Peeta."

He pulls me into a kiss, and then his hands mimic the actions of mine as he slides my panties down my legs. Once we're both naked, laying pressed against each other, he lightly bites my neck and I sigh.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers and then lets out a soft laugh. "God help anyone who dares to knock on that front door."

I smile and wrap my leg over his thigh once more. I want to tell him that if Effie, or anyone, even attempts to interrupt this moment, I'll make them sorry myself. The words get stuck in my throat when I look at him, though. He brushes a strand of hair from my eyes, gently placing it behind my ear. I swallow hard and place my hand over his heart, fingers splayed, as he positions himself at my center.

His eyes bore into mine as he poses a silent question. I lean my forehead against his and nod my assent.

The next few moments are filled with shifting body parts, fumbling on both of our behalves, and ridiculously shy smiles. Our inexperience shines clearly, but we don't let it deter us.

By now, the moon is shining in through the bedroom window. It gives everything in the room a silvery blue sheen, but the blush that covers my neck and chest is still perfectly visible.

Peeta leans his head down to place a kiss against the hot flesh of my neck and I gasp a little as he enters me. He ceases all movement, and looks up at me; asking quietly if I'm okay. I nod and it's the absolute truth when I do. The sensation, though strange and foreign, is not at all unwelcome. The pain that I'm expecting never comes; only a slight uncomfortableness that subsides quickly as I begin to feel myself stretch in order to accommodate him.

Something, I guess instinct, takes over the both of us. Soon, once I'm used to the way that our bodies are connected, our kisses become more frantic. Our touches are hurried, but more careful in a manner that speaks volumes about the way that we feel. He hovers over me now, placing erratic kisses to my temple, my cheeks, my eyelids. His arms are on each side of my head, their muscles taught.

The flame that's burning deep down inside of me is slowly building into what feels like a full-blown wildfire. When I begin to tighten around him, Peeta slips a hand down between our torsos, fingers seeking out the spot where we are connected. The pressure of his thumb sends me completely over the edge; eyes closed so tight that tears leak from their corners. While one hand grips the bedsheets, the other grabs at his back, slipping through the fine layer of sweat that covers his skin.

Less than a minute later, as I'm still coming down from the high that I never knew would feel the way that it felt, Peeta's breathing grows even more labored. I feel the muscles in his back tense and his thrusts become more desperate. He lets out a low moan, immediately biting his lip afterward. As he lowers himself down to where he rests on his elbows, his body sags against mine and I wrap my arms around his back. When he lifts his head to look at me, I tilt my chin up to indicate my want for his lips against mine.

We lay here for who knows how long; our bodies spent and wilted. We don't speak, instead sharing the afterglow of our actions in silence. Peeta takes my hand into his, playing with my fingers and tracing the lines of my palm. I pull his hand away from mine and place a kiss on the underside of his wrist, and he offers me a smile that fills my stomach with butterflies.

It's at that moment that we discover that my stomach is filled with butterflies, but little else. A loud growl cuts through the air, and Peeta raises his eyebrows as he glances down to my midsection. We both start to chuckle at the same time and he rolls away from, leaving me feeling instantly colder. He sits up, grabbing a pair of pajama pants that are lying on the floor near his side of the bed. He turns back to look at me, a smile on his face.

"Not that I want to leave this bed anytime soon, but it sounds like you could use something to eat. "

I roll over onto my side and place my feet on the cold floor below me. Peeta is already half-way to the door when I speak.

"Actually, if you'll just start a fire, I'll get the food. It's freezing in here."

He smiles and nods as he exits the room. After slipping on a robe from the hook over the bathroom door, I do the same. My legs feel like limp noodles and there is a dull ache between them as I take the stairs to the first floor. I briefly stop at the bottom to watch as Peeta begins to coax the fire in the hearth back to life. I smile a little to myself at the shallow scratch marks on his back before I move into the kitchen.

When I see the plate on the countertop near the stove, I know what I have to do.

I watch at the door to the living room until the flames in the fireplace are stable before I enter. Peeta's back is to me, still kneeling as best as he can with his bad leg in front of the blaze. I'm nervous, moreso than the night of our fancy, Capitol wedding. Even moreso than I was upstairs earlier this evening.

I'm thankful for my years in the woods, making my footsteps silent as I approach him. He doesn't turn as I sink to my knees beside him and slide the plate onto the floor in front of us. I watch his face closely as he looks down at the bread that I've provided.

His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't say a word as he lifts the loaf, tearing a large chunk off one side. He holds it out in front of him, my hand shaking slightly as I reach out to place my fingers beside his. Peeta leads our hands closer to the fire and while his gaze is fixed on the bread that we hold, my eyes are trained on his face. His concentration is unwavering and his eyes seem even bluer than usual.

The tips of my fingers grow warmer and Peeta pulls the bread back before it's too hot to bare. It comes back perfectly toasted. As he offers it to me, I take a bite from one end and the fact that this is the same type of bread that he saved my life with all those years ago is not lost on me. He takes the bread into his mouth and we both savor the moment. Once we've finished, he brings his hand up to cup my cheek and my mouth twitches upward into a smile that he instantly duplicates. His eyes shine brightly and, maybe it's just me, but he looks happier than I've ever seen him before.

* * *

I'm thinking of that moment, two nights ago. About how perfect it was. About how wonderful it felt to give Peeta that. About how much I wish that life was fair; that it could continue with the same bliss that moment entailed.

A shift from my right foot to my left as I watch the people fall in line around me. Prim is somewhere near the front, with the other 13 year olds. My mother waits on the sidelines, somewhere at the back of the crowd. Haymitch is up on the stage, along with Peeta who I can't bare to look at.

The doors of the Justic Building swing open. Out steps Effie in a powder blue suit that matching her wig perfectly. I watch as she teeters across the stage, and the clacking of her heels actually brings a crooked smirk to my face. She begins her speech, but my attention wavers.

The sun is beating down on top of my head and its blinding light gives me a good excuse to focus on my feet. My hands, clasped behind my back start to sweat and I move to wipe their palms on the skirt of my dress. An eerie silence fills the air, one that I've grown used to over the years. One that signifies the end of Effie's speech and distributes a tension throughout the crowd.

I look up just in time to see her hand dip down into the glass bowl filled with the names of all the girls in District 12. A brief look of pain crosses her face before the Capitol mask re-adheres itself to her features.

Try as she might, though, she's unable to keep her voice from breaking just a little when she says my name.

An audible gasp escapes from the crowd, but I've already taken a step forward before the first syllable even slips from her mouth.

Prim has stepped out into the aisle several yards in front of me. I grip her hand tightly as we mount the stage together. She does not cry. This fact alone almost causes me to do so. She shouldn't have to be put into a situation where she has to be this strong.

I feel Peeta's hand on the small of my back, its warmth searing through the silky fabric of my dress. I look to my right to see his other hand on Prim's shoulder before I turn to look at him. While I am stone-faced and mostly composed, his eyes are rimmed in red and he looks as if he'll fall apart at any moment. I lean back a little against his chest, but know of no way to really comfort him.

I've been so focused on Peeta that Effie's words have become only a faint buzz in the background. When I turn to face the crowd again, my heart drops into my stomach. The boy tribute is making his way toward the front of the assembly; the only one of his siblings within the required Reaping age. I hear a choked cry from Prim's mouth beside me. His older brother's outrage from the rear of the crowd is heard easily and I have to swallow back a sob myself.

Shoulders hunched and eyes glued to his feet, Rory Hawthorne joins us to stand on the cracked and weathered stage.


	15. Chapter 15

They don't allow for us to say goodbye to our families. Peacekeepers instead heard us like cattle into the car that brings us to the train. There is no crowd waiting to see us off, leaving only the empty platform to await our arrival. Effie, Haymitch, and Peeta follow behind us as we climb aboard. Not a single word has been spoken between the six of us since we left the stage outside the Justice Building.

In true Effie fashion, she points out all of the amenities the Capitol made transport has to offer. Prim, always so polite, pretends to care, her head bobbing up and down.

I look over to Rory as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. Immediately, I am struck by how much he resembles his older brother, both in appearance and his mannerisms. The thought that he is only a year younger than Gale was when we met enters my mind and I have to grab hold to the back of the nearest chair to steady myself. I watch as he glances over his shoulder at Prim and then walks to the window.

He is taking in what will probably be his last view ever of District 12.

The sudden rage that fills me almost knocks me off my feet. I risk looking to Prim, now standing beside Haymitch, and know for the moment that she'll be okay. My legs quickly take off in the direction of the room that Peeta and I shared while on the his Victory Tour all those months ago. I don't even know if this is the same train, or not. The layout seems identical to me, though, and I sigh with relief when I enter the familiar compartment.

Rushing into the bathroom, I practically fall into the sink when I reach to turn on the faucet. My hands grip the cool porcelain for a moment to steady myself as my shoulders hunch and my head hangs down. I cup hand-fulls of the cold water and splash it on my face, not caring if my careless actions leave wet spots on the silk dress I'm wearing. When my face is thoroughly soaked, I take a deep breath and look up at the mirror hanging over the sink.

I'm not surprised when I see Peeta's reflection, standing at the open door. A look of concern is etched deep into his features, the skin between his eyebrows knitted together.

I go to speak, to tell him that I'm okay. I want so desperately for it to be true, though. Lying to Peeta is something that I can't bring myself to do, especially now. So when I open my mouth, the sound that comes out is more of a strangled sob than anything.

In an instant, he's crossed the room and wrapped his arms around my shaking shoulders. My head is a mess, so I try desperately to clear it. I focus on my breathing, so ragged and erratic that I have to match it to Peeta's. He inhales, his chest raising to press itself to my cheek. I close my eyes, allowing the tears to come. They soak through his shirt and an image of Effie, shaking her head in displeasure, briefly enters my mind.

I am prepared for this. I'm almost prepared for Prim to have to go through this ordeal as well. I've been given enough time to wrap my head around the idea of both of us in the arena. Throwing Rory into the mix has sent me off balance, though.

Gale will never forgive me if his little brother doesn't make it home alive. He'll never stop hating me. Of course, I suppose it will be easier for him to forgive me since I have every intention of coming back in a box as well.

The comforting sound of Peeta's heart beats soundly in my ear. His arms are still wrapped securely around my shoulders, and he's rocking me back and forth slowly. One hand is tangled in my hair as the other grips the bicep of my left arm. He doesn't say anything, instead brushing his lips over the top of my head every once in a while.

When I lift my face to look at his, he gently kisses my forehead and brushes the stray hairs from my eyes. His thumbs wipes the tears from underneath them, only for them to be replaced with fresh ones.

Still silent, he slips his arms lower, lifting me from the ground. I don't protest as he carries me out of the bathroom and lowers me onto the soft mattress of the bed. He gently pulls the covers up over my waist. When he turns to walk away, I'm immediately thrown into a panic. My hand shoots out to grab hold of his wrist and he stops in his tracks, turning back to face me. His eyebrow quirks upward in an unspoken question.

"Stay?"

My voice is barely a whisper, the tears in it still evident. He looks down at me, and his eyes soften. He walks back to the side of the bed and sits as I scoot backward to make room. When he sinks down onto the mattress, he brings our still joined hands up to his lips, turning them over to place a soft kiss on my palm.

"Always."

* * *

We watch the recap of the reapings in the other districts. It quickly becomes clear that Snow has stacked the odds so that they are clearly not in our favor.

The tributes from District 1 alone are enough to make bile rise into my throat. The girl tribute, a volunteer, of course, takes the stage. There is a wicked grin on her face as she flicks her long, strawberry blonde hair behind her shoulder, waiting for her brother to join her on stage.

When the boy tribute, another volunteer, mounts the stage, I feel Peeta stiffen beside me. It's not until the camera pans in on his face that I see the cause of his alarm. He sneers as his siblings fall in place beside him; three additional hulking, heavily muscled boys.

Luca Tyler looks so much like his older, deceased brother, Cato, that it's not even funny.

I steal a glance at Prim, sandwiched in between Haymitch and Rory. Her face is blank, and I can't help but notice how much her mannerisms have begun to resemble my own. The young boy beside her has one hand wrapped tightly around hers, the other placed over the top of their interlocked knuckles. His eyes are trained on Prim's profile and I know that she sees him, but she doesn't turn her head.

I swallow and turn my face to my lap. Even if my plan works and she makes it home alive, she won't return the same. The changes are already beginning to take place.

In total, there are 67 tributes. No other district offers up as few as 12, though.

* * *

Peeta warns Prim and Rory of what is to happen at the remake center. I've managed to prepare myself as much as I can, having had longer to wrap my head around it. Standing in a room of strangers, naked as the day I was born, is something I'm sure I'll never be comfortable with, however.

When Rory was lead away earlier, I grabbed at his hand. He didn't say a word. He hasn't spoken since we got on the train, at least not to me. He resents me, I know that he does. When our eyes had locked, my fingers latched around his wrist before he could pull away, I could see it in his eyes.

He resents the hurt that I've caused his brother. He resents being in the position he's in now undoubtedly because of me. Most of all, I think, he resents me for not being able to protect Prim.

"Portia's fantastic, Rory. Really. She'll take good care of you."

My words were rushed and low. I know that he felt my trying to reassure him was pointless. And maybe it is. We both know that we're the two of us will do anything to make sure Prim makes it back to District 12. It didn't stop me from feeling grateful when he nodded back, the slightest trace of a smile on his lips.

* * *

I wake up with a scream still on my lips.

Peeta's arms are already around me when I open my eyes. He's pulled me into his lap, rocking me softly back and forth as his hands rub small circles across my back. I allow my body to sag against his, my cheeked pressed into his chest. The smooth skin is already soaked with my tears.

"It's okay, Katniss," Peeta's speaking quietly into my ear. The muscles of my shoulders and back relax slightly, and I wonder at the instantaneous way his words effect me. He kisses my temple and tells me again that it's okay.

It's the middle of the night, and we're in the cool, oddly furnished bedroom that the Capitol has provided us with at the training center. I'm thankful that the houses in the Victors' Village are not decorated in a similar fashion, though the fact will not be something that I'll appreciate in person again. This thought sobers me, but only for a moment before I remember my dream.

No, not a dream. A nightmare.

It had started off the way that my nightmares usually do. The day that my father died.

Only this time, instead of yelling for my father to run, I looked up to see Prim desperately reaching for me. Her mouth was open in a cruel, desperate scream, but no sound came out.

We were in the forest, and it took me too long to see the hand clutching her ankle. The time it took me to react was far too long; the long fingers gripping into her flesh until I see the blood that their nails drew. She hit the ground with a thud, her lips still curled in a cry for help. It was not until she disappeared behind a tree, her fingers leaving scratches in the dirt covering the ground, that my feet were able to move.

I rounded the corner, but Prim was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Rory's body lay crumpled and broken on the forest floor. The sound of loud, unbridled sobs grabbed my attention and I looked up to see Hazelle slumped against a nearby tree. Her head in her hands, Posy and Vick sat at her feet with blank expressions on their faces.

When I turned back to Rory's body, Gale stands in front of me. So close that our noses almost touch, which was ridiculous considering he is more than a head taller than me. In the nightmare, though, his eyes were level with mine. The heat and spit from his words hit me in the face. His voice was hard and cold.

"You did this."

Another scream tore my attention away from him, and it was followed by a sickening crack. I only saw her feet, black leather shoes she only wears on special occasions, dangling from a branch above my head before Lucca falls gracefully form the tree. He landed beside me, but the smile on his face is removed when the knife in my hand suddenly materialized. I didn't think twice before I pulled it sharply across his throat.

The next thing I knew, I was on stage with Caesar Flickerman. President Snow came forth with the Victor's crown and placed it on my head. The combs meant to secure it to my hair dug into my scalp until the warm, wet sensation of blood trickles down my forehead.

"It is ashame, of course, about your dear husbad, Katniss."

The question in my eyes elicited a wide smile from his too-plump lips. He didn't reply, simply left the answer to my silent query hanging in the air between us. When he moved his gaze over my shoulder, I turned my head to see what he stared at.

In a balcony far above our heads, Peeta stood, his shirt unbuttoned so that he bare chest was visible. The woman at his side was familiar, her stark white hair teased out in all directions. It was not until her companion, the man with the severely slicked back green hair, came to join them that I recognized them. The couple from the night we visited Snow's mansion during Peeta's Victory Tour. The woman ran her hand down Peeta's chest and slowed on his abdomen for a moment before grinning wickedly to the taller man. He wrapped a hand around Peeta's forearm and began to drag him away, through a door that just materialized behind them.

Peeta's eyes met mine for a fraction of a second before he called out my name; pleading for me to help. I tried to run, but a wall of fire erupted in front of me, effectively cutting off any rescue attempt.

I fell to my knees at that moment and the scream coming from my throat at that point was the same that I woke up to.

I don't even realize how my fingers have been flying over his body, making sure that he's okay, until he covers my hands with his own. I look up at his face and let out a long, shaky breath. When I swipe at the tears that have spilled onto my cheeks, my palms come away slightly bloodied. Peeta watches me as I study them to discover the tiny cuts where my hands were clutched so tightly that there are little half-moon cuts from my fingernails.

I ignore the cuts, as well as the bruise that's formed on the inside of my wrist. A product resulting from my first hand-to-hand combat training session with someone other than Haymitch or Peeta.

Since we've arrived at the Capitol, we've followed Haymitch's advice.

Trust no one. Don't try to make friends. Don't try to form alliances with anyone outside of our little trio. Don't show them what we're good at; letting them think that we are weak and ill-prepared is our best bet.

So when I was partnered with a particularly cruel girl from District 6 at the sparring station earlier today, I let her think just that. I let her think that I am weak and ill-prepared. Instead of throwing punches, I clumsily tried to dart out of the way of her fists. Instead of blocking, I threw my arms up a fraction of a second too late each time. Resulting in the bruises that currently litter my forearms and wrists.

I almost blew it when she stood over me near the end; me, bent at the waist and clutching my side.

"Too bad in a few days, you'll never get to see your husband's pretty-boy face again,  _Mrs. Mellark_."

The fury that raged through me at that moment made me forget my strategy completely. My hand, balled into a tight fist ('Thumb on the outside, sweetheart.' I could almost hear Haymitch saying), swung upward and into the soft skin right above her navel. I heard the air push itself from her lungs and swept my leg underneath hers, sending her sprawling to the floor.

Her reaction was timed perfectly, though. As soon as I realized that I had just essentially blown my cover, a spark of anger glowed in her eyes. Almost mimicking my earlier movements exactly, she swept my legs out from under me. I landed with a loud thud, not even attempting to break my fall. When she stood, foot drawn back to kick my side, I curled into the fetal position in an attempt to fall back into the facade of being helpless. It must have worked because the trainer brought the match to an abrupt end.

I let her keep the smirk on her face. I let her think that she'd won.

I wipe my slightly bloodied hands on the fabric of my sleep shorts. Peeta goes to speak, but I cover his lips with mine. He doesn't protest, instead molding his lips to mine quickly. I clutch at his back tightly, reassuring myself that he's okay; that he's safe.

Something in the back of my mind whispers, 'for now', and I cannot repress the shiver that runs down my spine. Peeta feels this, too, and holds me even closer. When I pull my lips from his, we sit with our foreheads pressed together.

I close my eyes, and all I can see is the image of him, his mouth open in a cry for help. I force my eyelids back open and place a hand on each side of his face. I reposition myself so that my legs are straddling his waist, our faces so close that our lips brush when I speak.

"You know that I love you, right?" I ask, saying the thing that I've made as clear as possible with my actions, but never actually vocalized. "I need to make sure that you know that... Before I..."

I can't finish my sentence. I've accepted my fate, really; I just can't say it out loud. From the look in his eyes, Peeta doesn't want to hear me say it, either.

He grips my hips tightly and the bare skin between my tank top and shorts tingles at the contact. I see the smile forming in his eyes just before it makes its presence on his lips.

"That's the first time that you've actually said it."

His voice is light; too light for the situation. I know this. He knows this. And I know what he's doing. Peeta has always been good at steering conversations away from troublesome waters. This time, I am willing to allow him to do so.

"Well, I do." I find myself leaning forward, even though it's not really needed because my lips are already against his. I speak into the kiss. "I love you, Peeta Mellark."

He swallows hard before his fingers dig even deeper into my flesh. I'm thankful for the warm feeling that's pooling in the pit of my stomach. It suddenly makes thinking of anything else very difficult.

Pushing me over until I feel my back hit the mattress, Peeta hovers above me. The muscles in his arms shift underneath his skin as he supports his weight with them. He leans down, bringing his lips to mine once again and I let out a small sigh.

"And I love you, Katniss Mellark."

My eyes flutter closed and I focus on the feel of his lips as they ghost over my skin. My mouth, my cheek, my neck, my collar bone. As we shed our bedclothes, I think of just how beautiful a life like this would be. I think of a lifetime filled with loving Peeta, and having him love me in return. He must be thinking the same thing; a bittersweet quality is displayed in our actions.

The odds are just not in our favor.

* * *

My palms are sweaty as I adjust the mockingjay pin to the thin strap of my dress. If the fabric wasn't so light-colored and silky, I would wipe them on it. Instead, I settle for nervously twisting my wedding band around my finger. I feel Peeta's hand on my forearm and stop, turning to face him.

He doesn't speak, instead wrapping his arms around me and bringing me close. I stand, my back to his front, watching the monitor on the wall in front of me. The young boy from District 11 who came here with his two sisters is finishing up his interview. Caesar Flickerman claps a hand over the 13 year old's shoulder, and I know that my time has almost come.

I watch as the boy makes his way off the stage, all of the color drained from his face. My name is called and a production assistant is suddenly waving me forward, their hand on my elbow. I trip a little over the hem of my dress, but Peeta is there to steady me. He's always there to steady me.

He follows me to the edge of the curtains that partition off the waiting area and once I'm finally within view of the audience and the cameras, leans forward to place a tender kiss on my lips. The crowd loves it.

The next thing that I'm aware of is the feeling of the plush, comfortable seat underneath me as Caesar leans forward to place his hand over mine. I don't even remember crossing the stage to get here. The low ringing in my ears finally dissipates and I force a smile to my lips as the man in front of me, his hair a cranberry color this year, welcomes me.

"Katniss Mellark." He starts, and I try to decipher the look in his eyes. Something akin to regret, I think, but I can't be sure. "I must say, you are looking even lovelier than the last time we met."

"Thank you, Caesar. Please, though, don't take offense when I say that I'd hoped we wouldn't be meeting again." I swallow hard and look down at my hands, fiddling with my ring yet again. A new nervous habit that I can't seem to shake. "At least not in this way."

His fingers tighten over the top of my hand and I bring my eyes up to meet his. There's that look again. I know now that it is, indeed, regret I'm seeing. Caesar Flickerman may be a resident of the Capitol, and he may look, sound, and seem to be everything that embodies the enemy. He is not the enemy, however.

I hope he understands that I know this, regardless of how difficult I plan on making these next few moments.

"Well, yes, I suppose that this isn't the most jubliant of occasions for us to reconnect with one another."

The shock that runs through me at his words is undeniable. Surely he must know that his words, even as innocent as they may seem, will not go unnoticed by the powers that be. The look on his face, the set of his mouth, and the firmness of his grip on my hand lets me know that he is well aware of this fact.

His demeanor instantly changes, though. The smile on his face is present once again as he continues his line of questioning.

"Now, Katniss, I think that we're all just dying to know how you managed a training score of 11. Care you shed some light on the subject?"

I smirk a little as I think back to the look on the Gamemakers faces after I shot an arrow through the apple wedged inside their pig's mouth. All of them, gathered around the buffet table, mouths open in shock. Thinking of the one man's stumble into the punch bowl almost brings a laugh to my lips.

"You know that I can't talk about that!" I playfully swat at his arm and my actions make me feel nauseated. My next sentence makes it way out before I can think about it. "We both know that I've been causing trouble well before I made my way to the Capitol, though."

I can almost hear his thoughts as the television host's eye bore into mine. I'm taking this too far. This will not bode well for me. These are both things that I already know.

President Snow has already ensured that my time in the arena will be nothing but torture. I may as well make it known that I understand this. What can it possibly hurt?

When I told Haymitch of my plans earlier this evening, I confided that my only worry was that Snow would take things out on Prim. On Peeta. On my family. I didn't hesitate to let him know that he was included in that group. A strange look had crossed his face and he open and shut his mouth several times before actually responding.

He eventually placed a large hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently. He mumbled something about it being a good plan. Something about it being pointless for Snow to seek retribution for the actions of a dead girl.

"Well, if by trouble, you mean stealing the heart of everyone's favorite Victor!" He laughs heartily and I try to join in with a lighthearted chuckle of my own.

I glance over my shoulder to wear Peeta stands in the shadows. My glance grows into a pained and desperate expression, and I place a kiss on my fingertips before blowing it in his direction.

I answer a few more questions before I hear the one that I've been waiting for. When Caesar asks me what my strategy for winning is, I lean forward slowly and watch as members of the audience do the same.

"Well, Caesar, I don't intend on winning."

The audible gasps and cries of dismay from the audience reach my ears and I'm genuinely surprised when I feel the prick of tears behind my eyes. Not because their reaction seems authentic, but because saying it out loud makes it much more real for me.

"Katniss, my dear, surely you don't mean that."

I nod my head resolutely at him. Thoughts of my mother, back home in District 12, along with Gale and the rest of the Hawthornes cross my mind. Thoughts of Prim. Peeta's face and the memory of his touch. I do not trust my voice quite yet, and I blink away the tears that have gathered in my eyes.

"You have so much to go back t-"

I cut him off, not caring how rude I may seem.

"That's where you're wrong. I'm not stupid, and I certainly am not blind. The odds have obviously been stacked to be in anything but my favor. He's made it abundantly clear that I won't be making it out of the arena in anything but a wooden box."

I can see the question in Caesar's eyes. A question that he already knows the answer to, but I silently beg for him to ask it anyway. The outrage of the audience is apparent, and I'm beginning to wonder how long they'll allow for this to go on.

Ask me. Ask me.

He uncrosses his legs and opens his mouth apprehensively as he leans forward on his elbows. I can hear my heart beating.

"And who is that, Katniss?"

I purposely sweep my hair back over my right shoulder. This allows everyone a clear view of the mockingjay pin on my dress. I touch it lightly, as if the action means nothing.

"Why, President Snow, of course."

Instantly the crowd is up in arms. Their cries are almost deafening, but I can somehow still hear the pounding of my heart over them. It's only seconds later that the order is given to turn off the cameras, but I've seen to it that the damage has already been done.

* * *

I wish that I felt as dauntless as I must have seemed on that stage.

We were herded into the elevator, Prim and Rory more than happy to have foregone their interviews, immediately after the cameras stopped rolling. Haymitch had instructed us all to go straight to our rooms; not to come out for anything.

I had managed to keep my emotions in check as I hugged Prim tightly to my chest. I'd kept my hand from shaking as I held it over the top of Rory's. It wasn't until we were in our bedroom, the door closed tightly behind us, that I all but collapsed into Peeta's arms. My tears never came, but the exhaustion of holding everything inside hit me like a ton of bricks.

We lie in bed, our bodies pressed tightly against each other. The hours have passed silently between us, so when Peeta opens his mouth to speak, I'm not expecting it.

"If I could, you know that I would take your place in a heartbeat, right?"

"I would never let you do that." The words make their way from my lips automatically. They're true. "I could never live without Prim. I couldn't bare to live without  _you_. I'm not strong enough."

The weight of this admittance is not lost on him. If there's one thing that I've always prided myself on, it's my strength. The strength that it took me to swallow my sadness after my father died in order to help my family survive. The strength that it took to build up the courage to cross underneath the fence that first time and every time after that. The strength to openly defy the Capitol and President Snow with my words on that stage earlier tonight.

He exhales slowly and his voice shakes when he responds.

"It's not fair. I can finally love you the way that I've always wanted to, and now... Now they're taking you away from me."

I don't know what to say, so I just hold him tighter. My lips find the hollow beneath his throat and I place a kiss to it. His fingers dig deeper into the skin of my lower back as if he can somehow anchor me to his body. The sincerity of his action hits me and I inhale sharply as I feel the tears slip from the corner of my eye.

More time passes, but sleep never comes.

It has to be in the early hours of the morning that a commotion in the hallway outside our locked door causes us both bolt upright from the bed. The ache in my bones from lack of sleep as well as movement over the last few hours tells me that quite some time as passed since we sequestered ourselves away in our room.

Peeta moves to the door, the dim light that's coming through the large, plate-glass window shining on his bare back. I move to stand beside him, but he is adamant that his body stay in between mine and the doorway. The floor is cold underneath my feet and I contemplate slipping them into my boots. The grip that Peeta has on my hand tightens then, and I forget all about my minor discomfort.

We hear what sounds like a small army moving through the hallway; all thundering footsteps and muffled words. A sudden, loud, pounding noise comes from the direction of penthouse's entryway. The sound is metallic, almost hollow really. Peeta figures it out a half-second before I do.

"The elevator. Someone's trying to get in."

"It sounds like they already have," I raise my eyebrow and gesture back to the direction of the door. "I think they're headed to the roof."

"Yes, but," Peeta's eyes dart back to the door frantically, and I can tell he's debating over whether or not he should open it. "It sounds like  _someone else_  isn't too happy about being locked out."

We both jump back when the doorknob in Peeta's hand starts to rattle back and forth. The loud, hurried knocking is followed by a voice that quickly eases both of our nerves. The volume of Haymitch's words is dampened by the door between us, but their urgency is not.

"Hurry up, you two! We've got to go!"

When Peeta pulls the door open, Haymitch's mouth is still open in a shout. His eyes run down the length of our bodies, barely dressed in sleepwear provided to us by the Capitol.

"No time to dress for the occasion, sorry."

I would've preferred my usual tank top and shorts over the silky, slinky camisole and far too short shorts, but until his comment, my current state of dress was the farthest thing from my mind. I don't even have time to roll my eyes before he's pulling us both out into the hallway. I see Prim's blonde head bounding down the corridor ahead of us, Rory's hand clutching hers tightly, and relief floods through me.

We're halfway down the hallway when the thundering against the inside of the elevator doors gets even louder. I look over my shoulder when I hear the telltale screech of metal against metal. The doors are being opened slowly, bits of the reflective material bending outward at odd angles. I turn my head back to face forward, thankful for Peeta's hand pulling me along the hallway. We're almost to the stairwell that accesses the roof.

I hear footsteps behind me. The unmistakable clicking of multiple guns being cocked. Haymitch is through the door, his legs taking him up the stairs faster than I would have thought possible. Peeta's hand tightens around mine as we take the first step up. Above us, I see a woman with short, dark hair pulling Prim up the final step by her elbow. I don't know this woman, but my worry about her hands on my little sister is short-lived. Beside her, Finnick Odair takes hold of Rory's forearm. Our eyes meet for a split-second, and I know that they'll be okay.

I don't know how long it takes us to reach the top of the stairwell, but the shots I hear ricocheting off the wall near my head let me know that we might not be fast enough. The cool air hits me as soon as we burst through the door to the roof. An unmarked hovercraft is idling not far away. There are a handful of men inside, their faces hidden by shielded helmets, much like the ones that Peacekeepers wear, only black. Their guns are trained in the direction of the doorway leading onto the roof. I watch as people I don't recognize, along with a few that I do (Rory, Prim, Finnick, Portia, Effie, Haymitch) climb aboard as quickly as possible.

Peeta turns to help me climb on board first, one hand still in mine and the other on my waist. I hear the door that's just closed behind us open, the hard metal clanging against the marble of the wall it's been flung into.

Instinctively, I turn my head. I hear gunshots ringing through the air from both sides of my body; coming from the hovercraft and doorway alike. A searing white-hot flash of pain runs through the pit of my stomach. My eyes latch on to Peeta's and I find that I'm grateful that the ringing in my ears blocks out what I know must be the blood curdling scream that's falling from his lips.

The agony that I see in his eyes is the last thing that I'm aware of before everything goes dark.


	16. Chapter 16

It feels like there are cotton balls stuffed into my ears and mouth as I regain consciousness. I hear muffled voices around me, but my vision is still dark. No matter how hard I try, I can't quite seem to pry my eyelids apart. I can sense movement near me and I'm desperate to see just who else is in this room. If I can't see them, maybe I can ask.

I try to speak, but end up choking instead.

The pain that I feel in my abdomen is intense and unexpected. Instinctively, I try to bring a hand up to cover the point of pain. My arm feels like it weighs a hundred pounds and the stinging rip that I feel in the skin on top of my hand only adds to my discomfort.

Hands are placed on my shoulders, firmly pushing me back down onto what feels like a relatively thin mattress. The rubbery feeling on my skin tells me that whoever is with me wears gloves. A faint beeping sound comes from somewhere in the room, but my head hurts so badly that I can't pay it much mind. The sounds of shuffling feet and muted voices drawing closer make their way to my ears.

"I think she's waking up."

I don't recognize the voice. Where am I?

"No! No, it's not time for that yet! She still needs -,"

I feel a sharp prick in my arm and the warm red color of the inside of my eyelids starts to fade to black.

* * *

When I wake up, I'm alone.

The white fluorescent lights hanging from the ceilings, along with the white walls, and stark white linens covering me are a blinding combination. My eyes, no doubt puffy and bloodshot, water uncontrollably as I force them to stay open. I don't recognize anything about the room I'm in and a blind panic sets in immediately.

Where's Prim? Where's Peeta? Where are Haymitch, Rory, and the others? Where am I?

My throat still feels dry, and its walls close in on each other when I try to swallow. When I bring my hand up to wipe the moisture from my eyes, I feel the tug of the IV just in time. I lower my arm slowly and pull the needle from my skin as carefully as possible. Tiny beads of blood gather on the back of my hand and I wipe them on the sheet that covers my legs.

A pain not quite as agonizing as the one I remember from before makes itself known as I sit up slowly. It's not until I attempt to swing my legs over the side of the bed that it really hits me. A sharp cry escapes my mouth and I swear that when I close my eyes, I can see stars.

I don't know if he's somehow been watching, or if he just has impeccable timing. By the time that I open my eyes, though, Haymitch is in the room with me. His eyes are wide and their redness looks to be from lack of sleep instead of excess of alcohol. His hair sticks out at wild angles. He hasn't shaved in days.

I've never been more glad to see him.

The door behind him stands wide open, but the hallway that's visible through it doesn't reveal anything about where we are. White walls stretch farther than this room, it seems. This whole place is devoid of color, really.

The thought that maybe I'm dead, that maybe this is the Heaven that I've heard people talk about, crosses my mind. I quickly dismiss the idea. I've never bothered to learn much about the place, but from what I do know, I doubt that Haymitch would be the person welcoming me to the afterlife.

A pang of guilt runs through me for thinking something so harsh about the man before me.

Almost as if he can hear my thoughts, a sly smirk crosses his face. He shuffles closer and runs a hand through his hair. The result is an even more disheveled appearance, but it brings a smile to my lips.

"You may not want to try that just yet, sweetheart." He nods toward my legs that dangle over the side of the bed. "You've been out of commission for a while."

I finally manage to gather enough saliva in my mouth to swallow. I don't get the relief or result that I quite want, but it'll have to do for now.

"How long?"

My voice cracks on not one, but both of the words. I watch as Haymitch walks to a counter on the far side of the room, along the opposite wall of the doorway. I have to turn my head to follow his movements when I feel the telltale pull of stitches in my side.

When I was no more than eight years old, I fell over the side of our old, rickety porch. The fall resulted in a broken patch in the lattice that surrounded my mother's flowerbed and three stitches above my left eyebrow. The discomfort each time I quirked an eyebrow back then is not very different from what I feel now. Of course, I get the feeling there are more than just three holding me together this time around.

I hear the running of a sink and see Haymitch fill a white, paper cup almost to the brim with water. He turns to face me, sloshing a bit of the liquid over the sides as he moves to stand in front of me. When he offers me the cup, I grab it and drink from it greedily. I'm so parched that I can track the cool water's trek from my lips all the way down my throat.

"Almost a month now."

I immediately start to choke and sputter a mouth full of water out onto his shirt. My coughing is harsh and painful. One of the stitches in my side splits and I somehow manage to release a hiss through all of my hacking. I look down to see a small, slowly expanding blotch of red on my gown. When I peer up at Haymitch, he waves a dismissive hand toward me.

"If a couple of bullets tearing through your side, shattering the bones of your hip in the process didn't do you in, sweetheart, a busted stitch is nothing to get your panties in a bunch over."

I feel my eyes widen at this barrage of information, but I don't say anything. I still don't trust my voice. Bringing the cup to my lips again, I take another sip of water. I watch Haymitch's eyes over the brim and wonder what other details he'll offer on his own. He can tell that I'm silently fishing for information, though, so he stubbornly remains quiet.

"Where are the others? How are they?"

I don't sound like myself.

"Prim's fine. Rory, too. Not a scratch on 'em, actually. Of course, your little sister has been wearing a hole in the floor outside of your room. Maybe she'll sit still now that you're awake." He stops for a second to chuckle to himself. "When she wasn't fawning over Finnick, that is. I think the Hawthorne boy might be jealous."

He trails off and a cold feeling takes up residence in the depths of my stomach. I can feel what little color I must have in my face drain away from it. I don't want to ask. I don't want to ask, but I know that he's going to make me. I know that he's unable to bring the words to his lips voluntarily.

"And Peeta?"

He drops his eyes from mine and slowly moves to stand beside my legs. He places a heavy hand on the hard, plastic railing that borders the bed, but still doesn't meet my eyes.

"He was driving the doctors crazy around here..." Haymitch starts to speak, but has to pause and swallow hard before he can continue. The question of where 'here' is bounces around in my head, but it's a secondary concern for me right now. "Outside your door twenty-four hours a day. Hell, he stole a chair from a room down the hall and actually set up camp at one point. About a week ago, though..."

"Tell me."

My voice comes out harsh, despite its weakened state. Haymitch looks up, meeting my eyes for the first time since he's started talking, and nods.

"We're in District 13."

I can feel my eyebrows shoot up at this bit of information. The fact that the district that was infamously bombed into the ground still exists is big. Huge, even. To be honest, though, I really don't care at the moment.

"Where is  _he_?"

"They were evacuating 12. Inside information told us that Snow was planning on wiping it out. He didn't want to go, but we convinced him that he needed to do  _something_. Even if it was just to get his mind off of you in this damned bed." Haymitch stops speaking and pinches the bridge of his nose. I don't say a word, waiting for him to continue. "A week ago, we finally convinced him to leave with the other members of the rescue team. We know that they arrived safely in 12. They were there for only a few hours; enough time to get word to us that a lot of damage had already been done. They were set to arrive back here the next morning."

That cold feeling in my stomach from earlier has since turned into a solid block of ice. I look up at Haymitch imploringly and he brings a weathered hand up to cup my chin that's been quivering without my knowledge. He lets go and lowers his eyes once again.

"We lost contact with his hovercraft about an hour after they took off from 12."

* * *

It's another week before they allow me to get out of bed.

When I walk, I can almost feel the metal rods that have been used to reconstruct my hip. I have a cane that reminds me of the one that Peeta used when he first came home. I have a limp that reminds me of Peeta's.

I have a gaping hole in my heart that reminds me of Peeta every single second of every single day.

The bandages over the entry and exit wounds the bullets left behind aren't as big now as they were when I first woke up. I don't like to look at what's underneath. The skin isn't fully healed; all puckered and angry looking. There's bound to be some pretty nasty scars.

I can't help but think of Peeta's back, and how he had returned home from the Games with it free of the scars he'd left home with. The medical equipment that they have here in 13 is nothing compared to the Capitol's apparently. I suppose I should be thankful that they have medical facilities at all, but it's hard to be thankful of anything these days.

Effie came by once, not long after I woke up. She managed to keep up her Capitol, aren't-things-just-so-great act for about thirty seconds before she turned into a blubbering mess. Haymitch had apparently left out how involved in persuading Peeta to return to 12 she had been. The guilt she felt was so obvious on her face that it had hurt to look at her.

Prim comes every day to walk with me; part of my physical therapy. She follows along beside me, her hand always precariously close to my elbow each time I slow down or falter in my steps. If I didn't love her so much, I'd tell her to back off. I know that she's just trying to take care of me, though. The way that I've always done for her.

We don't really talk much. At first, she had chattered constantly. I think it was to keep her mind as occupied as she was trying to keep mine. It didn't take her terribly long to realize that I wasn't exactly keeping up with the conversation, though.

It's not until she brings up our mother that the guilt starts to set in. She quietly mentioned her one night, after my evening therapy session and dinner that I could barely keep down. She stood to leave the room and stopped in the doorway, her hand clutching the frame. Her voice was small and a potent reminder that this was the little girl who's nightmares I'd sang away for years.

"Please don't disappear, Katniss. Don't do what she did after dad died."

I pursed my lips together and looked up at her with my eyebrows in a straight line across my forehead. When our eyes locked, she gave me a small, sad smile, and left the room.

For years, I've been so proud of how strong I was when my mother could not be. Now, I realize that I simply didn't understand what she was going through. How can I explain that to anyone? How can I explain to Prim that all her plea did was make me wish that I could offer our mother the apology that I now know she deserves?

Rory stops by every now and then. I appreciate his company in a way that I didn't expect to initially. We sit in silence most of the time, but it's companionable and something that I find I need. He reminds me so much of Gale during those moments that I can sometimes pretend I'm back home, in the woods during the early morning hours.

Before everything became such a mess. Before I became such a mess.

Two days after I regained consciousness, the officials in District 13 sent out a recon team in search of the hovercraft that never made its way back. The hovercraft that had been carrying Peeta, along with more than a dozen others; Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason, the short-haired woman that had helped rescue us from the training facility, included.

They returned with no more than they left with. They found the hovercraft, crashed not far outside of the borders of 12. There were no bodies, but there was also no sign of any survivors.

Everyone has started speaking to me as if I'm a widow. As if he's already been proven dead.

At first, I was too tired, too weak, to lash out. The anger that I felt at their words of codolence was visceral, but eventually faded into the background.

Actually, everything seemed to fade into the background.

All I can think of now is getting better. Getting out of this damn hospital wing. Getting access to the upper levels that Prim and Haymitch mention. Ridding myself of this wretched cane and walking out of here on my own. I'm aware that there's a war going on outside our door. As much as I want to make myself a part of it, I know that I can't do it without him.

If they can't find Peeta, then I'm going to have to find him myself.

* * *

I've been planning this for days. Weeks, even.

So it makes sense that these plans are thwarted almost as soon as I try to put them into play.

"Don't think for a second that I don't know what you're trying to do, sweetheart."

I turn at the sound of Haymitch's voice and watch as he steps out from a doorway that I passed only seconds ago. He hasn't been around much lately. I wasn't even sure if he knew I was discharged from the medical wing yesterday afternoon.

I guess he's been paying more attention than I thought.

He eyes the bag that I've got slung over my shoulder and I let it fall from my arm in defeat. It hits the floor with a thud that echoes down the seemingly endless hallway. Of course he would wait until I was finally at the end of it to make his presence known. We're only a few yards from the elevator that I'd been working my way toward.

"Haymitch," I start, clearing my throat. "I was beginning to think that you no longer cared."

He doesn't respond at first, settling on an undignified snort instead.

"I have to know, how exactly did you plan on navigating your way back to 12 with that bum hip of yours?"

I choose not to answer him, and lean against the wall behind me. The cement is cold and the skin of my arms immediately breaks out into goosebumps. The thin tank top that they provided me with upon my release doesn't help much against the chill.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't been so locked into that pretty little head of yours, you would've heard all the commotion this morning."

My head jerks up at his words and my heart rate picks up speed.

"What commotion? What happened?"

He shoots a crooked smile my way and crosses his arms over his chest.

"At least I know that there's still one thing that can get your attention," he mutters before raising his voice to continue. "Survivors, sweetheart. Late last night, a group of survivors from District 12 made their way to 13's western border. They arrived in the medical wing this morning. Your mother was with them, as well as that cousin of yours, with his family."

The weight on my shoulders instantly lightens.

My mother is alive. Gale is alive.

"But," I start, and try to will myself not to get my hopes up. My stomach is in knots, though, and despite the chill of the cool hallway, my palms feel suddenly sweaty. "How did they find 13? How did they know how to get here?"

A slow smile spreads across Haymitch's face and I push my body off the wall behind me, turning to face him. He opens his mouth to speak and I vaguely recognize the soft 'ding' of the elevator, signifying its doors opening on our floor. His next words will be far too important to me to pay it any mind, though.

"From someone who knew the way."

A rush of emotion overcomes me, and I avert my gaze to the floor. My eyes have already started to blur with tears that I had no idea were coming. I blink and rub at them harshly with the back of my hand before I look back at the man in front of me. His eyes do not meet mine, however, and instead focus on a point over my shoulder.

I feel him before anything else; an incredible sense of warmth running through my body that didn't even know was possible. I hear him next; the dull, almost hollow sound of his prosthetic leg hitting the floor that I've gotten so used to in the past year. It sounds silly, even in my head, but I can even smell him from here; the warm aroma that reminds me of our kitchen in the early morning hours.

The beating of my heart is rapid and intense, but when I turn to face him it feels like it stops altogether.

Peeta stands in front of the now closed elevator doors at the end of the hallway, his eyes glassy and rimmed in red. His hair is longer than I've ever seen it and something about the way it curls at the ends makes my breath catch in my throat. There's a bandage covering a spot on his forehead, just above his right eye, one arm is in a sling, and his body is littered with scrapes and the occasional bruise.

He has never looked more beautiful to me.

I don't even realize that I've been moving until there is a painful shift in my hip that pitches me forward. My cane lies, forgotten, somewhere on the floor behind me. Even without the use of both arms, he manages to catch me and the relief that I feel at his touch is overwhelming.

I find my footing and he pulls me close to his body, my chest pressed tightly against his. I run the tips of my fingers lightly over the planes of his face, underneath his bangs, and then back through his hair. I have to make sure that this is real. I've had more than enough drug-induced dreams that resemble this moment over the past few weeks. My hand comes to rest on the crook of his neck and I look up at him.

Peeta's blue eyes crinkle a little at the sides as he smiles down at me. I watch as a tear rolls off his bottom lashes and makes its way down his cheek.

"Hi."

His voice is soft and I feel a tightening in my chest at it. I know that as soon as I speak, I'll completely fall apart, so I don't. Instead, I tilt my chin up and crush my lips to his.

The kiss says everything that we can't.

It says 'I missed you', 'don't ever do that to me again', 'I can't live without you'. It says 'I love you', 'I'll never stop loving you'. It says so much more than I ever thought I could feel previously. It's soft, desperate, rushed, and deliberate all at once.

When it's over, my body sags against his in the now empty hallway. I stay there with my ear pressed to his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, for a few moments before turning my eyes upward. I offer him a watery smile that he returns, and I bring my hand up to cradle his cheek.

"Hi."


	17. Chapter 17

They only allow for Peeta and I to stay in our little bubble of contentment for two days before we get the call to report to Command.

For those two days, though, we were almost able to forget the circumstances that managed to bring us here. We didn't think of the destruction of District 12, or of the war going on outside. We didn't think about President Snow and the threat that he still poses.

Instead, we stay wrapped in a cocoon that we managed to create for ourselves.

The officials in District 13 have assigned us a housing unit identical to what everyone else here resides in. It is little more than four walls, white just like all the rest here, and a bed. There is a small bathroom attached with a stand-up shower that's not big enough for more than one person, but we manage to stretch its limits. The terror of being separated again, of merely blinking to find that the other is missing, is far too real for us.

We've been instructed that meals are to be taken in the large, open cafeteria during the designated time slots. However, I wasn't anywhere near ready to face that yet, and somehow managed to convince Haymitch to have someone bring food to our room for us. We know that Haymitch is not any kind of authority here, and we knew that our actions would more than likely find us in trouble with whoever is. We were aware that our reprieve was to be a short one, though, so we made the most of it that we could.

As we walk down the hallway leading us to Command's central office now, our hands intertwined tightly, I can't stop my mind from wandering. I think back to the first night of our reunion.

* * *

We haven't let go of one another since the moment in the hallway. Not when Haymitch finally made a reappearance, not when we sat through the meeting necessary to get our unit assigned to us, not even after the door closed behind us. I can't stop staring at him, and he can't stop himself from running his fingertips over the planes of my face.

"Didn't they assign you a unit before you left for 12?" I ask suddenly, not really sure why the question has popped into my head. He blinks a few times, momentarily brought out of his observation of the new scar on my chin; a result of hitting the ground after I was shot, I've been told. He shakes his head from side to side.

"No. They tried, but I told them not to worry about it," he says, looking into my eyes with an intensity that makes my insides feel as if they're melting a little. "I told them that I wouldn't be sleeping anywhere but in, or right outside of your room."

We don't mention how he was convinced to not only leave his not always so silent vigil by my bedside, but District 13 entirely. We don't want to relive our time spent apart, even just through words. We will one day, but not tonight.

We lower ourselves to sit on the bed, barely wide enough to accommodate two people, really, but we won't need much space. The mattress is thin and harder than we would prefer, but still nicer than what I slept on for the first sixteen years of my life. We don't complain; we would never complain about something so trivial. Not after the way that we've lived and the things that we've seen.

I bend at the waist, attempting to take off my shoes, but this is one of the movements that I've still been finding rather difficult to master. I try not to let the pain show on my face, but there's no hiding it from Peeta. He's off the bed and kneeling in front of me before I can protest. I watch in silence as he unlaces my shoes and slips them off my feet. The task proves difficult for him to complete with only the use of one arm, and the sling on the other makes it even more troublesome for him to get back up.

Without giving him a chance to argue, I throw the pillows down onto the floor and stand. I rip the sheets and blanket from the bed and smooth them out into a makeshift pallet for us. His hand rests on my lower back as I slowly navigate my way down to join him on the thin, nearly threadbare carpet. We situate ourselves into the most comfortable position we can manage; me, on my back with my legs thrown over his hips, as he lies precariously on his side, his uninjured arm pinned underneath his body. Seeing his hand twitch in my direction, I reach out and twine my fingers with his.

We double up the pillows so that both of our heads lie together on the same one, foreheads touching and noses almost brushing. He's exhausted; the bruised skin underneath his eyes, along with the yawns that he's desperately trying to hide, making it evident. He needs sleep, whether he's willing to admit to it, or not.

I comb my fingers gently through his hair, pushing it back off his face, and he finally gives in and closes his eyes at my touch. He shifts a little, trying to find a certain position, one similar to how we spent nights, pressed together, back in 12. Knowing it's my fault that he's unable to find any familiarity in our embrace, I inhale deeply and my fingers still, tangled in his bangs. He opens his eyes and peers at me through his lashes.

"Sorry," I start, suddenly frustrated. "It's just... Since I'm still not fully recovered, sleeping on my side, or on my stomach, is pretty much out of the question."

It's true. Either action makes the dull ache in my hip throb mercilessly. It's unfortunate because falling asleep on my back is something that I've always found to be next to impossible. So this, on top of the fact that I've spent all of my time worried sick about Peeta, means that I haven't had a decent night's sleep in weeks. And now that he's here, I'm not able to hold myself against him the way that we both want. The way that we need.

I watch as realization of what I'm saying dawns across his face. He smiles and scoots closer to me, letting go of my hand so that he can slip the sling from his injured arm. I open my mouth, but the look he gives me silences my objection. He tells me that it isn't broken, and the sling is more precautionary than anything else. Also, that it itches. I let out a small laugh and he leans forward to kiss me.

He slides his uninjured arm underneath my body and around my waist, shifting closer to me. Placing his recently liberated arm so that his hand is over my heart, he kisses the area just below my ear. The involuntary shiver that his action elicits makes me smile. He continues his trail of kisses down, from my ear, to my jaw, to my neck, to a spot on my collarbone that makes my hand tighten into a fist around the fabric of the shirt he's wearing.

"Don't worry," he says in between the open-mouthed kisses that he places on my skin. "I'm more than happy to be the one clinging to you tonight."

* * *

I'm brought out of my reverie by the sounds of Haymitch clearing his throat. He's standing a few feet ahead of us, fingers wrapped around the door's handle, silently asking if we're ready for this. My grip on Peeta's hand tightens and he nods.

Haymitch pushes the door open and the air in the room, colder even that the freezing hallway, hits me in the face. I feel my muscles tense slightly, and Peeta rubs his thumb along the side of mine. A stern, almost monotone female voice comes from the group of people stationed around the large, square table in the center of the room.

"Mr. Abernathy. You're late."

My eyes find a clock on the wall. It's less than a minute passed 7AM. I expect a smart ass reply from the mentor, but am surprised when he simply apologizes for our tardiness. I look to Peeta with one eyebrow raised, but he merely shrugs in an almost imperceptive manner.

The woman, obviously the one in charge of things around here, turns to face us. She's plain-faced and dressed in a dull, grey pantsuit that matches her eyes. Her silver hair is pulled back into a severe bun and I don't like the way that she's looking at me. At us. I don't like the feeling her stare gives me at all.

She turns slightly to address Haymitch.

"You can go now."

Her attempt at a polite smile leaves a lot to be desired. I can feel my stomach drop when I see that he's following her order, and my fingers tighten around Peeta's. Her gaze falls down to our interlocked hands and one of her eyebrows quirks upward just enough to be noticed.

"Mr. Mellark. Miss Everdeen."

If I didn't like the way that she had sounded when she spoke to Haymitch, I absolutely hate the way that she sounds when she addresses us. I swallow hard, and take a step forward.

"It's Mellark, actually."

"Is it?" She asks, absentmindedly as she thumbs through some papers on the table in front of her.

I don't answer as immediately as I suppose she's used to, and she turns her eyes back to my face. I don't know where the need for this silent stand-off is coming from, but it's there, and I won't be the first one to break. She manages a tight-lipped smile and stands up straight again.

"You should know that there's no need to pretend here. I know what the Capitol does with its  _play things_. I don't judge. In fact, I understand more than most the need to be protective of certain things."

The anger that I feel in my stomach is almost at a full boil now. While her words do hold a grain of truth, the fact that our union was originally put into place to protect Peeta, the implication that he's just an 'item of value' has me seeing red. The feel of his thumb once again tracing an invisible patten on the inside of my wrist brings me back down a few notches.

"I can assure you, it's Mellark."

She tries to remain nonchalant, impassive to my words, but her eyes harden the slightest bit and the room seems to grow colder. She pulls a chair from underneath the table and extends a hand, indicating two on the opposite side.

"Please, sit." She lowers herself into her seat and I feel her eyes on me the entire time it takes us to do as she's asked. "First, let me just say how elated we are that you're both here now, safe and sound."

She sounds anything but elated to me. I find myself nodding in acknowledgement regardless.

"Now, to get down to the point. As I'm sure you've been told, almost all of the districts are currently at odds with the Capitol now. The rebellion is in full-swing, and it seems that we have the two of you to thank for that." She pauses to take a sip of water from the tall, clear glass in front of her. I watch as the condensation slips down the outside and pools around the base of the container as she places it back on the table. "We believe that it's very important for the members of the rebellion to have a... spokesperson, so to speak. Someone to rally their efforts and keep up their  _enthusiasm_. Someone who evokes the true spirit of the rebellion. We'd like that person to be you, Katniss."

I can feel my jaw go slack. From the corner of my eye, I can see Peeta turn slightly to face me. I don't respond, so Coin continues on.

"I'll be blunt. Mr. Mellark , while you are undoubtedly the more personable, well-spoken half of your duo, your actions, the stunt with the berries, merely fanned the flames. Katniss, you threw gasoline on the fire. Your interview with Caesar Flickerman is not soon to be forgotten."

Her voice holds no malice. Instead, she speaks in simple, black and white terms. Almost as if she's speaking to an outside party, not the actual subjects of her words.

I'm surprised when Peeta lets out a short laugh, lacking any trace of humor entirely. He leans forward a little, but doesn't let go of the hold he still has on my hand.

"For someone that's asking for help, you sure aren't being very polite about it."

Something akin to a smile crosses her face.

"Being polite seems to be more your way of getting things done," she says before turning back to me. "I knew your father, Katniss. In fact, most rebellion leaders still alive today remember him. I'd be lying if I told you that you being his daughter didn't have something to do with this decision. And I think that you'd be lying if you said that you didn't believe in the things that he stood for."

She stands then, placing her hands on the table in front of her to push herself out of the chair. Walking to the door, she doesn't indicate that we should follow her, but I can't wait to get out of this room. I stand quickly, wincing slightly as the hurried motion sends a twinge of pain through my lower body. Peeta joins me, a protective hand placed on my lower back, and we move into the hallway.

"Think it over," Coin says, placing a cold hand on my forearm. I repress the urge to shake off her touch.

"If I decide to do this," I start, not really sure of where these words are coming from. "I'll have conditions."

The older woman nods, already turning back into the room we've just exited. Her voice comes from over her shoulder.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

* * *

"You know your father never cared too much for Alma Coin."

My mother's words ring out quietly over the silence in the room. It's late in the evening and I've stopped by to visit with her while Peeta is helping Haymitch moves his things from his original unit to one located closer to ours.

He was given the okay three days ago to stop using his sling. We had our meeting with President Coin almost a week ago now.

Mother knows what the older woman in charge is asking me to do. I explained it to her, along with Prim, Haymitch, Gale, and the rest of the Hawthornes the very same night that the offer was presented to me. Reactions had been varied, but my mother had not tried to share hers at the time. I don't realize until she speaks to me now that I've been waiting to hear it.

Turning to face her, she doesn't have to lift her head from the skirt she's hemming to know that she has my attention.

"He always said that she was power-hungry. Ruthless, even. He said that even though he was glad that she was fighting on the  _right_ side of things, he couldn't help but think that maybe her  _reason_  wasn't as noble as she'd like people to believe."

I nod when she looks up to meet my eyes, and sit there for a moment. The pain that I suddenly feel in my chest is heavy and it's not until I sniff involuntarily that I realize just how close to tears I am. She comes to sit beside me on the bed that Prim sleeps in each night. When she leans forward to place a kiss on my forehead, the ache in my chest seems even heavier.

"What would dad do?" I ask, my voice thick and strained. "If he were in my position."

"He would do it. Without a doubt in my mind, I know that he would. But I also know for a fact that if he were in President Coin's position, he would never ask this of you." Her fingers brush over the mockingjay pin that's become a permanent fixture in my wardrobe, and she smiles sadly. "Your father was fighting for you, and your sister, and everyone else's children, so that you wouldn't have to. He would realize that asking you to do this wouldn't be much different than sending you into that arena. It's just a different kind of fight for your life."

* * *

I wake up screaming for my father to run.

It's been months since I've had this nightmare. In an odd, terrible way, it doesn't seem so bad this time around. None of my mother's photos made it here from District 12. It's the first time that I've seen his face since before we were taken to the Capitol for the Quarter Quell. I've missed seeing his face, even if just in dreams.

Peeta's arms are around me, and I tuck myself tight against his chest. His hands run up and down my back, and I match my breathing to his as I calm myself down. I can feel my heart rate slow. Thinking back to the first time he helped comfort me after this same dream, I can't help but smile a little.

"I love you, Peeta," I say, my voice still raw. I place a kiss against his bare chest, just under his collarbone, and push myself back so that I can see his face.

"I love you, too." His voice is soft and its tone is one that I've come to recognize as being reserved just for me. He tilts his chin downward and captures my lips with his own. "Are you okay?"

"Better now," I nod. "I'm always better when you're here."

When I think of the person that I was before Peeta returned home a Victor, my words sound foreign to me. That person doesn't exist anymore, though; at least not in the way that she used to. She definitely wouldn't be craning her neck to kiss her husband right now.

Peeta returns the kiss in the slow, sweet way that I've come to crave. His hands cease their comforting circles on my back and press me closer to his body instead. One journeys lower, blazing a trail of fire through my shirt, and comes to rest on the waistband of my underwear. I'm thankful that I'm not bearing any weight on my injured side as the warmth begins to pool in the pit of my stomach.

I gently bite his lower lip and smile into the kiss as I'm rewarded with a low growl from somewhere deep in his throat. His body heat is suddenly removed from mine. I'm momentarily confused, but when I open my eyes, I find him hovering over me. He is in the process of lowering his body back down to me, but I find that I can't wait the half-second that it will take for him to do so. My hands link behind his neck and I simultaneously pull myself to him and bring him down to me. When we crash back down onto the pillow underneath my head, his weight on top of me is substantial; its feel is warm and comforting.

His lips follow a path from mine on downward; the skin beneath my jaw, the crook of my neck, the slight hollow beneath my collarbone. My fingers dig greedily into his back as he pushes the strap of my tank top off my shoulder and kisses across the top of my chest. My breathing is shallow as he continues farther down, and it catches in my throat when I feel his lips lightly brush the mostly-healed scar tissue of my ruined hip. His eyes flicker up and I bite my lip at how suddenly dark they seem.

I stretch my hand out to run my fingers through his hair, and he leans into my touch. That ache, the hunger I feel inside more often than not these days, overtakes me. It overtakes the both of us.

I had never pictured myself as the girl who would spend her nights wrapped around the boy that she loved; I had never pictured there even  _being_  a boy that I would love like this. I would have gone on; sullen, hard-headed, and alone. I might have even convinced myself later down the line that I was content with it.

Now that I know, though... now that I know what this feels like- wonderful and exhilarating, terrifyingly dangerous, yet safer than I've ever felt before - I know that there's no going back. A life convincing myself that I'm content is nothing compared to the life that I have now.

I think back to my mother's words. To the fact that my father fought for us; fought for his children.

My view on parenthood throughout the years has always been the same as my view on love. Now, as I watch Peeta, sated and heavy with sleep, I think of how wrong I was before. Love doesn't make you weak, it gives you something to fight for. Something to be strong for. If I was wrong about love, what's to say that I'm not wrong about raising children as well?

An image fills my mind of a little boy with Peeta's blond curls and my Seam grey eyes. Of his chubby fingers latching on to his father's as I watch, following behind them.

I swallow hard and run a hand through my husband's hair as he continues to sleep. It's not such a horrible thing to imagine, really. I'd be lying if I said that the thought didn't make my chest ache a little in what I can only identify as wanting. And though I still don't know if children will ever be in my future, in our future, I can not deny that ache.

So I'll do it. I'll be Coin's Mockingjay, a symbol and mouthpiece of the rebellion. I'll fight for that wanting that I can now feel inside of me, just as my father would have done for his children.


	18. Chapter 18

My list of demands is short. Perhaps, if I had been given more time, it would have been longer, more detailed. However, as I stand here now, the paper gripped by my hand on one side, and Alma Coin's on the other, there are only three lines of handwritten text.

_1\. Peeta has to be with me, every step of the way._

_2\. My family is to receive extra protection during, and after, this war._

_3\. I get to kill Snow._

When her eyes scan number 1, I can practically see her exhale with relief. She knows just as well as I do that my actions and last name will be the only things that inspire anyone. Without Peeta's words and overwhelming sense of  _goodness_ , a rebellion lead without him doesn't stand a chance.

After she moves on from my first demand, her eyes narrow slightly. I wait for her to argue that taking extra precautions for my family will only hinder the war effort. I expect her to say something about how taking soldiers from their rightful place on the battlefield and putting them on a glorified security detail will be nothing but wasteful.

I wait for the fallout, and am surprised when it doesn't come.

Instead, I see a corner of her mouth twitch upward, and know that she's reached the final item on my list. She looks up at me with what I think she must feel is a sense of camaraderie. I don't return the sentiment.

"Alright," she relinquishes her hold on the paper. My hand drops down to my side, limp. "When the times comes for number three, though, I'll flip you for it."

* * *

The camera crew that's been assigned to follow us on our trip back to District 12 is respectful enough to give us a moment alone once we reach our old home in the Victors' Village. I'm surprised to find that this section of 12 has been left virtually untouched. I suppose that surprise is naive of me.

It's terribly unfair. These houses, most left empty since they were built, still stand while there is nothing remaining of the house just down the street. Mayor Undersees' house; Madge's house. Beautiful, sweet Madge with a penchant for strawberries who stood with me on my wedding day.

My throat starts to close in on itself and the now all too familiar burn of tears appears in my eyes. We've barely made it through the entryway of our house when Peeta pulls me in, close to his body. My cheek presses flush against his chest and it's not long before the fabric of his shirt is soaked through with tears.

He lifts me with hardly any effort and the next thing I know, we're seated on the floor in front of the empty, stone fireplace. I suddenly feel warm and almost swear that the smell of burnt bread is in the air around us. Peeta cradles me in his lap, his arms coming around mine, encasing me in his embrace. I allow myself to sink against him for a moment, taking comfort in the fact that he's here with me and that this is something that I don't have to do on my own.

It's not until I feel the way that his chest shakes against my back when he exhales and hear the barely discernible sniff that I realize how selfish I'm being in this moment. It seems to be a running trend where I'm concerned.

His entire family is gone; burned and most likely turned to ash when the bombs fell. I forget sometimes because he doesn't talk about it. He busies himself in helping with the war effort and doesn't linger on the fact that we are all that remain of the Mellarks of District 12.

"Peeta," my voice comes out in a whisper as I turn to face him. His eyes are closed and the tears that are caught in his lashes manage to escape and trail down his cheek. I bring my fingers up to brush them away, and he captures my hand between his and the damp skin of his face. When his eyes, even bluer now that they're rimmed in red, meet mine, his face crumbles. I'm immediately turning myself around so that my chest is flush against his. My legs snake their way around his waist, and my arms mimic the tight hold he has on my body.

He hadn't wanted to go by what remains of his family's bakery. When Cressida and Pollux had callously suggested doing so earlier, they had each found themselves on the receiving end of the most threatening glare I could muster.

They had been discussing our 'angle' for this particular propo and had added in the fact that we should visit the remnants of the Mellark bakery so flippantly that I could barely stand it. It had taken me a moment to remember who they were, and how they had never had the misfortune of losing a member of, or, in Peeta's case, their  _entire_  family.

At the time, Peeta had merely shaken his head at them. There was a small smile on his face that was easy enough for me to see through, but obviously didn't convey the actual depth of what he was actually feeling. Otherwise, they would have gotten more than just a glare from me. He quietly told them that seeing it once was enough for him.

Now I can see that it was much  _more_  than enough.

So we sit here, huddled in each other arms on floor of our old home. He clings to me, and the way that his entire frame shakes with the sobs that are racking his body makes my chest ache. I'm reminded of the way that Prim used to fasten herself to me after a nightmare and start to rock back and forth slowly.

He lowers his face to rest in the crook of my shoulder, bunching the fabric of my shirt tightly in his hands. He lets everything out through his tears; we don't speak.

He cries for his father, and I remember the sweet-natured man that was never anything but nice to me. I think of how easy it would have been for someone who once loved my mother in the way that he did to treat the child that she bore with someone else with apathy, or even disdain. Instead, he had always greeted me with a smile and kind words. And when the time had come, he had welcomed me into his family with open arms.

He cries for Chord and Leif, his brothers that I wish I had been able to know better. I remember the mornings that I would stop by the bakery, before the wedding, before the reaping, even. The Mellark men had all been morning people, and I remember the dull ache that I would feel upon seeing the casual, happy way that they all worked together. At first, I had been jealous that, even though they were working, they were able to enjoy their time together as siblings. It wasn't that I resented having to go through the measures I did in order to provide for my sister. It was more about the fact that we were unable to enjoy our time with each other the way that Peeta and his brothers did.

Now, I can only be grateful that he was granted that kind of relationship with his siblings. Now, I can only feel guilty that my family is back in District 13, safe and sound, and waiting for our return.

He cries for his mother, though I know deep down that he would suppress the tears that come for her if he could. Peeta loved her, yes, but not in the way that a child is meant to love its mother. His love toward her is more due to the way that Peeta is capable of feeling compassion toward even some of the most dreadful individuals. Perhaps, if she had loved him the way that someone is expected to love their offspring, remembering her would be easier. Or maybe it would be harder. It would have been a different life, though, making his pain now a moot point. This is the hand that he has been dealt.

I don't know how long we've been here, a tangle of limbs on the floor, more one person than two. My back is starting to ache, but I will gladly remain in this awkward, cramped position for hours if that's what Peeta needs for me to do. Fortunately, his shaking has subsided and the inhales and exhales that he takes have returned to a steady rythm.

He pulls his head from its spot on my shoulder and looks down at me. I remove my hands from his back and place one on each side of his face, using my thumbs to trace small, featherlight circles on his cheeks. Pressing his forehead to mine, he covers my hands with his. His eyes are not as red now, but evidence of his tears still remains.

"Thank you," he whispers, broken and more tired than I've ever heard him sound before.

"You still have a family, Peeta. You have me, and my mother, and Prim. We're still your family, and you don't have to thank me for that. " I'm unsure of exactly what to say, so I just speak the first thing that comes to mind.

It must be exactly what he needs to hear because the words are out of my mouth for barely seconds before he presses his lips to mine.

His hands move to the back of my head, fisting my hair tightly in order to pull me closer. My lips form against his in a way that is welcome, but entirely unfamiliar. I have felt the passion of Peeta's embrace before, but never quite like this. Never in this way; filled with sorrow, tribulation, hunger, and gratitude all at the same time. It still surprises me how used to each other's touch we've gotten, but it surprises me even more at how different this kiss feels from all of the others we have shared.

I suppose grief has a way of working differently for every person.

When I feel his fingers skimming along the sides of my torso, the inner monologue that's trying to make sense of his actions stops completely. Somehow, even with his leg and all of my weight on top of him, he manages to stand with my body still wrapped around him. I pull away from him to protest, but he silences me with a kiss that makes me forget everything I was about to say.

He doesn't set me on my feet again until we reach the top of the staircase. As soon as my hands are free, no longer linked behind his neck in order to hold on, I'm pulling the shirt from his body. His hair stands up in all directions, but in the dim light that shines through the window at the end of the hallway, it looks more arousing than absurd.

We leave a trail of clothing along the path to our bedroom.

When my back presses against the soft, plush mattress, I almost groan at how good it feels. Our bed back in 13 is practical; narrow and hard enough to leave our muscles aching with no relief from the training we take part in day after day.

I feel his lips form a smile where they are currently pressed, just below my bellybutton and right above the last remaining article of clothing that I wear. The burning deep in my stomach increases and I lock my legs together behind his back. He knows what I want and easily rolls his body onto his side as I pivot my hips. Pulling himself up to where we are eye level, he trails more kisses over the planes of my face. My eyes flutter closed and I'm sure there will be scratch marks covering his torso from my nails.

He presses a palm into the small of my back, causing our hips to collide. I don't even realize until I feel him enter me that he's used his other hand to pull my underwear to the side; too impatient to make time for their removal.

* * *

The first propo is set to air any minute now. Peeta and I were both shocked when they told us it would be ready to go so soon after filming it. We were only in District 12 yesterday, but they've somehow managed to already string together something that they assure everyone will be 'inspiring' and 'encouraging'. The only thing that's keeping me from blurting out that those two words mean almost the exact same thing is Peeta's elbow in my side. I cut my eyes over to him and he just shrugs without looking in my direction. One corner of my lip twitches upward.

Everyone sits, spread out in the hard, plastic chairs that litter the room that, aside from the television along one wall, is fairly empty. There is a collective intake of breath when the Capitol seal appears on the screen. After thirty seconds or so of the Panem anthem, the seal fades into a black screen. When it is replaced with the surgically altered face of President Snow, meant to come across as more appealing, but instead just stretching his features into a terrifying combination, Peeta's grip on my hand tightens.

His words are nothing that we don't already know; informing citizens of the rebellion and that any attempt of usurping the Capitol will prove futile. It does surprise me, though, that he is the one that's decided to do the talking as opposed to assigning someone else with the delivery of what he considers bad news. I briefly wonder the fate of Caesar Flickerman, but am quickly pulled from my thoughts by the loud crackle of interference being emitted from the television. There is static on the screen, but then the outline of a large mockingjay symbol comes into focus.

"Son of a bitch actually pulled it off," Gale's voice comes out in an awe-filled whisper from my right. I peer over at him for a half-second and his eyes meet mine in the dimly lit room. "Beetee's a genius."

He's been spending a lot of time with the quiet, District 3 victor lately. They've spent the past few weeks holed up down in the weapons room, doing who knows what, for hours on end. I've been happy that Gale's been able to find a purpose here in 13, other than the training that he also partakes in. However, when his eyes briefly flicker down to where my hand is entwined with Peeta's, resting atop my knee, I can still see the momentary flash of pain in them. I let out a long exhale that falters more than I would like for it to. Smiling at him, I place my free hand on his forearm and squeeze it gently. The smile that he offers me in return makes me feel just a little bit better.

I turn my attention back to the television screen.

The connection is spotty at first, but holds strong after twenty seconds, or so. I hear the commentator; Peeta's smooth voice speaking the barely rehearsed, but incredibly inspiring words chosen to convey the horror of the situation. Words that say how unjust all of this is. How  _wrong_ it is for any one group of people to reign supreme over the rest and allow their self-importance to sway them into thinking it's tolerable for them to decide how others should live their lives. To decide how the lives of others should ultimately end.

There's an aerial view of what remains of District 12, followed by a shot, taken from behind, of Peeta and me walking through the rubble. I force my eyes away from the screen, not wanting to relive the scene again. The dust and ash that had settled its way into the crevices of the boots I'd worn that day had taken me hours to remove.

I sit, my eyes glued to my hand in Peeta's, listening to his voice come from the television. He idly runs his thumb along the side of mine in the manner that I've grown so used to. I'm still unprepared to face what's unfolding onscreen, but when I hear the sharp intake of breath from my husband and feel his grip on my hand tighten considerably, I can't stop myself.

A closeup of a small, sad smile on Peeta's face as he shakes his head. The colors are washed out, and somehow make even his clear blue eyes seem cloudy and dust-filled.

_"Seeing it once was enough for me."_

A shot of the bakery; the sign, spelling out 'Mellark's' in large, blocky letters. Where had they even found a photograph of it from before the bombing? The photo fades to show what now remains of the building that Peeta's family used to work and live in. The only thing really recognizable is the large, cement porch that ran along the front of the shop. Everything else has been reduced to rubble.

Beside me, Peeta's breathing becomes uneven.

The scene transitions and, while the voice over still continues, I'm unable to concentrate on the words. From a distance, they capture us climbing the steps to our old home, shutting the door behind us. It's not until the cameraman's apparent footsteps begin to bring the camera closer to the house that I know what's about to happen. The screen is jostled around a bit as he climbs the steps, but returns to its previous, steady position once he's at the window that looks into our living room.

Suddenly, our very private moment is being televised across the nation. I want to look away, but I can't seem to tear my eyes from the screen. From this angle, you can see how tightly we're clinging to each other, the damp spot on the fabric that covers my shoulder from Peeta's tears, and the almost uncontrollable shaking that spreads through his limbs.

"No one should have that kind of control," Peeta's voice is quiet as it plays over the scene. "Control that allows them the power to break people."

The screen goes dark and someone turns the lights back on in the room. I look over to see Peeta's eyes, glassy, and rimmed in red the same way that I'm sure mine are. Careful not to look in our direction, people start to turn to one another. The not-so hushed whisper of Messalla catches my attention. He's gripping Cressida's wrists tightly, an overjoyed look on his face.

"It was  _perfect_! Utterly perfect! So gritty, so  _believable_!"

When I stand, I take a second to lean down and kiss Peeta's cheek softly. While his cheek gets my lips, Messalla's gets my fist instead.

* * *

My suspicion of President Coin's true intentions only increase with time.

More propos are made and aired. We were unprepared for battle in District 8 when sent there to film a visit with victims of yet another Capitol bombing. Just like back in 12, the cameras keep rolling even when it makes much more sense for them not to be. I'm sure it would have made running to cover a lot easier, but I will give them credit - they are much more dedicated than I originally thought.

After that particular propo aired, Coin's apathy toward me shifted into something different. Gale says that I'm imagining things, but I know better. He's so caught up in the fact that there's actually a rebellion going on to pay attention to the finer details. I don't hold it against him; I've spent far too many days out in the woods, listening to his anti-Capitol spiels to do so. I know how much this all means to him.

When I had walked into command the day after shots of me, taking down a hoverplane, aired, Alma Coin barely spared a glance in my direction and her words cut off abruptly. The following morning, we received a memo, shoved underneath our door, stating that only authorized personnel would be allowed into Command without express permission. The short paragraph was followed by a concise list of said personnel. Oddly enough, the Mockingjay and her husband didn't make the cut.

We make our way to District 2. We watch as the Nut falls and its workers turn on the Peacekeepers. I deliver an ill-timed speech that I have no business making in the first place. There is a gunshot from the crowd. Blackness follows.

I come to in a hospital room with Gale at my bedside. He sits, slumped over in his chair, snoring quietly. I try to reposition myself so that I can sit more upright and the sound of my groans wakes him almost immediately. He leans forward quickly, his eyes doing a visual sweep of my condition.

"You're awake! Do you need anything?"

"Only to stop getting shot...," I manage to croak out. "Where's Peeta?"

I don't like the look on Gale's face. I know that Peeta would be here with me if he were able, so he must not be able... My eyes harden and the dark-haired man in front of me knows that if I don't receive an answer soon, things will swiftly turn unpleasant.

"He's, uh... He's in a holding cell right now."

 _A holding cell?_ He knows that my fury is bubbling just under the surface, even at these few words, and continues on before I can interrupt him.

"Apparently, Coin doesn't appreciate being yelled at and threatened by subordinates. Peeta lost it when they got you back here to 13. Completely went off on Coin for purposely putting you into harm's way... About the circumstances of the shooting... I promised him I'd be here when you woke up. So you wouldn't be alone."

Gale averts his eyes from mine as soon as he's done speaking. I can see his resolve wavering, though. He would rather do a lot of things before he agrees with Peeta on anything, but I can sense that it he has the same apprehension and doubt about Coin's intentions now.

"Get someone to tell Ms. President that the Mockingjay would like to speak with her."

"Mrs. Mellark," Coin begins as she steps through the door of my hospital room. "It is highly unusual for someone in my position to be summoned anywhere by an individual such as yourself. I can't say that I was surprised, however."

I tilt my head to one side as I examine her, standing just inside the door, not coming any closer to where I lie.

"Yes, well, it's not as if I'm in any condition to march myself into Command yet."

She nods, and her unpleasant eyes find mine for a second before moving away.

"A condition, I will point out, that your  _husband_  seems to think I'm the cause of."

"Were you?" My question is pointed and her attention snaps back to my face. After a few seconds, she lets out a scoff, and cocks her head to the side as if to say 'fair enough'.

"As if it would be that easy to rid myself of your bad attitude." She tucks her hair behind one ear, and I'm fascinated with how it remains an unbroken sheet, even with her movements. "I'll be content with no longer having to associate with you after we win this war."

Her words shouldn't surprise me, but the cold chill than runs down my back cannot be suppressed. I've done nothing to hide my disdain for her, though. Why should she act any differently toward me?

"You need to release him from custody. He needs to be here with me," I hold up a mocking finger when she starts to open her mouth, a denial already on her lips. I enjoy reminding her a little too much. "Condition number one."

She stands there for a moment, not looking at me, her hands folded together in front of her body. Finally, without breaking eye contact with the wall in front of her, she speaks.

"Very well. If there is another  _mishap_ , however, I feel the need to remind you that condition number two can easily be retracted."

If I didn't already dislike the woman in front of me, I definitely do now.

* * *

We prepare to storm the Capitol, using yet another propo as a distraction. Our privacy already invaded, it's decided that we will expose another horrifying truth of the oppressive government and President Snow. We will show the citizens of Panem that no one ever really  _wins_  the Hunger Games.

 _"My name is Haymitch Abnernathy. I was the_ victor _of 50th annual Hunger Games. Because of the way that I won the second Quarter Quell, my mother, younger brother, and girlfriend were killed by President Snow two weeks after I was crowned victor. Over the past 24 years, I have mentored 48 children in the Games. I have watched 46 of them die. I still remember all of their names. All of their faces."_

_"My name is Finnick Odair. I won the 65th annual Hunger Games when I was only 14 years old. I was also 14 years old the first time that President Snow sold my body to the highest bidder. I have spent the past ten years as nothing more than a Capitol prostitute. The only thing that kept me sane through those years was the woman who waited for me back home in District 4. President Snow tried to take her from me in the 70th Games. Had he been successful, I don't know if I would be here today."_

_"My name is Johanna Mason. After I won the 71st Hunger Games, President Snow wanted to make me the Capitol's newest plaything. He wanted to sell me, to have control over me outside of the arena, just as he had while I was inside of it. When I refused, my entire family was killed. There is no one left that I love."_

_"My name is Peeta Mellark. Winning the Hunger Games without blood on your hands is the last thing that President Snow wants, but that's exactly what I did. That doesn't mean that I don't see their faces every night. That doesn't make it any easier to deal with the guilt of being alive when so many others are not. When President Snow was unable to do with me what I'm sure you can tell by now he so loves to do with his victor's, he did the one thing he knew would destroy me. Out of the hundreds of slips for District 12's female tribute this year, there was not a single one that didn't have Katniss Mellark's name on it."_

We don't see the propo when it airs. Instead, we find ourselves in the middle of a war zone. We have the element of surprise on our side, but they have Capitol technology, force fields, and mutts, and advanced weaponry in bulk quantity on theirs. It takes us much longer than anticipated to really gain any ground.

After almost two days, Squad 451, nicknamed the 'Star Squad', breaks off from the others. While the majority of our soldiers continue to press forward against the opposing army, we make our way toward Snow's mansion.

Along this path is where the faint red dot, belonging to the laser sight of a high-powered rifle appears on Peeta's chest. He turns to yell something over his shoulder to me and I spot it at the exact same moment as our squad leader, a gruff, but likable man named Boggs. I am frozen by fear, but his reaction time is much quicker than my own. Suddenly, he both pushes me back and surges forward at the same time. He knocks Peeta to the ground seconds before the shot is fired. The sniper is nowhere to be seen, leaving only the bullet, buried in the cement wall behind us as evidence.

I don't get a chance to thank Boggs. I am still sprawled out on the street, my hands stinging with scrapes, when he takes a step back, looking through the scope of his gun for the shooter. The second his right heel presses to the ground, it triggers the bomb that blows off his legs.

"Peeta, I don't think you should come with me."

He stops me in my tracks with a hand on my arm. When I turn to face him, my resolve falters.

"Katniss, you know I can't let you do this alone."

He takes a second to cup my cheek with his hand. I lean into his touch instinctively. I'm so tired and wish, just for a moment, that I could put the world on pause. He leans down and kisses the tip of my nose.

I grip my fingers tightly around the hand that holds my face. Closing my eyes, I can still see the silver parachutes drifting down from the sky. I feel the terror that came over my body when I spotted Prim in the crowd of medics flooding the scene. I can still feel the same heavy sense of dread in the pit of my stomach that I did when I watched the faces of those children, thinking they were being granted gifts.

I knew differently, though. When my eyes met with Gale's across the pathway, I could see that I wasn't the only one. He knew better than the rest of us what was about to happen. Afterall, he did assist in the creation of those bombs.

I can still hear his strangled screams; his yells of warning, telling everyone to move. Frozen in place, I watched as he took off in a dead sprint toward the children that hadn't managed to evacuate the area. He caught my eye once more and I managed to lift a foot, ready to head in his direction. Ready to help. His eyes grew wide, and though the noise of the crowd was by then much too loud, I read the word  _'Go!'_  on his lips. I wanted to argue, but Finnick's hand on my forearm stopped me. We took off running, continuing in the direction of our objective.

I turned just in time to see it. The look on Prim's face as Gale ran toward her, confused and afraid. And the way that he threw her away from his body, as far as he could. It was the last thing that he'd ever do.

Peeta's grip on my hand tightens, and brings me back to the present. I wish that I didn't still smell the smoke in the air.

Looking back down the corridor we've just made our way down, I see the guard that Peeta overtook lying a few yards away, with no signs of regaining consciousness any time soon. I blink hard and look back up at him. He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear and speaks; his voice low and devout.

"It's you and me."

"Promise?" I ask.

"Always."

I nod my head and turn back to the heavy, ornate door in front of me. Adjusting my bow and quiver over one shoulder, I press my hand to the cool wood and push. I have to choke back the bile that rises into my throat as the smell of roses fills my nostrils.


	19. Chapter 19

The wind that forcefully blows my hair from its braid is cold. I don't feel it, though; not really. I'm much too focused on the weight of the bow in my hands. Holding the weapon has never felt heavier or more foreign than it does in this very moment.

Peeta's hand has just left its spot in the crook of my elbow, but I can still feel the ghost of his touch. I turn my head just slightly to the left and see him standing there by my side. Or maybe, judging by the cloudy, haunted look in his eyes as they sweep over the scene before him, it's the other way around. It's hard to tell at this point, and I'm okay with that.

Through all of this, and the years before if I'm being honest, I've always treated our support of one another as a tradeoff of sorts. It took years to come to terms with the fact that not everything is based off repayment of debt. It was hard for me to accept the fact that he would be there for me simply because he wanted to. It's become much easier since I realized that I wanted to always do the same for him.

So when his eyes catch mine, I reach out and lightly grasp the tips of his fingers with my own. The watery half-smile, half-grimace that I give him hopefully tells him what I want it to.

_Thank you. Thank you for allowing me the privilege to stand by you. Thank you for standing by me. For understanding what I have to do._

I swallow hard and blink away the unwanted moisture that's starting to collect in my eyes.

Looking to my right, I see Johanna; legs shoulders-width apart, her hands clasped behind her back. She doesn't look at me. Instead, she focuses on the man bound a few yards ahead; the man who stole everyone that she loved from her. She's working hard to seem calm, but I can see the tensed muscles, the clench of her jaw where she's gritting her teeth, and the pure and utter contempt that she radiates from where I stand.

Maybe she'll be the one to actually do it. Maybe she'll be the one to kill him. She should be the one to do it.

Standing only a few feet away from Johanna, Finnick causes me to briefly re-think my decision. War has not been able to dull his physical allure. Now, even covered in sweat and grime, with his bronze hair plastered to his forehead, he is still beautiful. At the moment, this beauty only serves as a reminder of the life he was forced into. The life that he kept up in order to protect those that he loved. Finnick Odair and I both know the importance of security.

Maybe he'll be the one to actually do it. Maybe he'll be the one to kill him. He should be the one to do it.

The crowd gathered beyond the verandah is made up mostly of dirtied, weary rebellion soldiers. Mixed into masses however, I spot Prim, leaning heavily on Rory Hawthorne. Haymitch stands behind them, his eyes demanding my attention. I can't give it to him right now, though.

I can't give it to him because when I look at my baby sister and the boy she clings to for support, all I can see is the 14 year old Gale that I met in the woods only months after we'd lost our fathers. The boy with the snares who'd helped in keeping my family alive. The boy who would eventually become the man that saved my little sister's life.

Primrose will never be the same. The bandages that obscure one side of her face will eventually come off. The scars that they leave behind though, will more than likely remain as a constant reminder that someone tried to take her from me.

I swallow hard and try not to think of his grey eyes and the way they would crinkle at the sides when he laughed. We had grown apart since Peeta's homecoming, of course, but his final act will forever serve as a reminder that Gale Hawthorne loved me enough to save someone that he knew I would fall apart without.

If Snow were truly to blame for that bombing, I would be the one to actually do it. I would be the one to kill him.

I lock eyes with him. It's only for a moment, but that's all that it takes. He knows that I won't be the one to do it, and the look on his face that borders on smug is almost enough to change my mind.

I think of his cold, dark eyes on me as I danced with Peeta during our stop here in the Capitol on his victory tour. I think of that secluded, dark hallway where he confirmed my fears about his plans for my best friend. I think of the bouquet of roses delivered to our house the day after our engagement. I think of my name in that reaping bowl and how that tiny slip of paper condemned not only me, but Prim, as well as everyone else that I love.

And then I think of how the man in front of me, while far from innocent, no longer serves as the biggest threat to the well-being of Panem.

_"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark. I was wondering when you would manage to find your way here."_

Adjusting the bracer on my forearm, I can hear Snow's low, raspy words from earlier in my head.

The small pruning shears in his hand when we found him, around the corner of a row of pristine white roses, had been cause for me to panic. I practically threw myself in front of Peeta, causing the old man to laugh. He knew why we were there; knew that death was imminent and coming for him soon. And he actually  _laughed_ at me.

_"Now, now, Katniss. Always so quick to protect. We both know that I'm not a man of physicality. Were anything to happen to you, or Mr. Mellark here, it would never actually be by my hand."_

Reaching over my right shoulder, I pull an arrow from the quiver that hangs there.

_"Tell me, though... Do you trust her? My soon-to-be successor."_

I adjust my stance; legs shoulder-width apart just as I was taught all those years ago. Just as I had taught Gale to stand during our lessons in the woods. I allow my eyes to flicker upward. Coin is watching the crowd with a cool look and I note that even in this wind, the line of her hair lifts around her chin, but never breaks.

 _"I know for a fact that your father didn't, Mrs. Mellark. That is, of course, beside the point, however. I heard news of your_ cousin _, and wish to offer my sympathies."_

Nocking the arrow, I curl my fingers around it securely. It rests in the well-formed indention between my index and middle fingers, and I think of how proud my father's voice sounded when he had shown me the similarities that had formed between our hands.

_"You know, I was just about to issue an official surrender when they released those parachutes."_

He had paused, taking the time to note how Peeta's hands clenched tightly at his sides and the way that my head shook slightly from right to left.

_"You didn't think that I had anything to do with that, did you? Though I must admit, it was a masterful move on Coin's part. Who would stand up in my defense if they believed I was bombing my own helpless people?"_

I raise the bow, drawing its string back as I go. The string grazes the side of my cheek and I remember Prim watching me practice; watching as I found the anchor point that worked best for me. When she had asked if I was scared to hold the weapon so close to my face, I told her no. A moment later, she confessed that she would be afraid of getting hurt. The memory of telling her that I understood, that her sweet little face was far too pretty to risk injury, causes an ache in my chest.

_"My failure was being so slow to grasp her plan. To let the districts and the Capitol destroy one another while her precious 13 remained almost fully intact. Make no mistake, it's always been her plan to take over; to take my place. She played it perfectly, using the inhabitants of this room as distractions for one another."_

With my left eye closed, I inhale deeply. As I take aim at the rose that's been pinned directly over his heart, I look at his face once more. I search the eyes of the man who has made all of our lives miserable, an absolute living hell, for as long as I can remember. He coughs and when several drops of blood appear on his lips, his deteriorated state serves as a reminder that he will be dying soon. With, or without my arrow.

_"She fears you; more than even I did. Surely, you must know this. She's been living, hidden underground for years while the rest of the country has fallen in love with the two of you. She has much more to lose now, of course. And I do fear the lengths that she'll go to in order to assure her position as this country's leader._

The corner of his lip twitches into an amused expression and I don't blink as I shift the point of my arrow upward and release the string. I watch as Coin's body falls to the ground. The second of complete silence just before the chaos is nearly deafening.

* * *

My trial, something that I spent my time during, in a cell that was too quiet, and too calm in comparison to the noise in my head, is over two days later. I'm to return to what's left of District 12. I'm not to leave.

When boarding the hovercraft that will take me home, I have to be sedated once I realize that the only person with me is Haymitch. I claw at his arms, my voice raw and wild, demanding to know where Peeta is; where my mother and Prim are. My voice fades out as I can no longer resist the pull of darkness that's invading the edges of my vision.

* * *

A week passes before mother and Prim come home. Their arrival is a surprise to me; Haymitch never mentioned it.

Of course, I'm not sure that he's even set foot in this house since he left me sitting by the empty, stone fireplace seven days ago. The first week I've ever had, that  _anyone_  has ever had, without the underlying threat of the Capitol, and I've spent it alone.

Before he disappeared for a week, Haymitch did manage to explain to me that the doctors had thought it best for the others to all stay behind for a bit. Prim, I understood. Surely they could do something about the scars she was bound to be left with. I thought of my husband's bare torso that night a lifetime ago, completely free of the scars from both his mother and the arena. Maybe they could do that for her.

Peeta, though... My mind had immediately jumped to the last time that I saw him; his fingers wrapping around my wrists as the grey uniformed men had closed in around me. It was loud then, so impossibly loud. I couldn't hear him, but I could see his lips forming my name.

Had he been hurt? What had they done to him?

My mouth had just barely opened to start my inquisition when the not quite as much of a drunk as he used to be held up his weathered palm. He ventured on to say that surely I had not failed to notice the fact that my husband was no longer the 16 year-old that his prosthesis had been fitted to. Adjustments were needed. The Capitol hospitals are the finest, and he deserves nothing but the best. I nodded to him, not trusting my voice at that moment.

Just hours ago, when the front door had swung open and I'd heard the sounds of mother and Prim, I'd let my hopes get the best of me. While I could only discern two sets of footsteps, I still held my breath in anticipation that Peeta's uneven tread would soon join them.

They arrived alone.

My mother had hugged me tight, her breath catching in her throat as my fingers clutched at her back. Prim knocked the air out of me all together when she threw her arms around my torso. Leaning back to get a good look at her face, I sighed in relief. While still visible, the scarring was nothing compared to what I had been expecting.

* * *

Solitude does strange things to a person.

I've spent the past week wondering why I haven't heard from him. I checked the phone in the house, wondering if maybe the bombing had taken out the lines. It was entirely possible, but the dial tone that I heard proved that theory wrong. I even went as far as dialing Haymitch's number; hanging up when he finally answered, even though I'm sure he knew it was me.

The first night alone, I slept wrapped up in the blanket from our bed on the floor of the living room. I fell asleep imagining that he was there with me. The second night, I imagined him lying in a hospital bed; him picturing me there with him. When the days started to pass with still no word, I started seeing him merely wondering how I was doing. Eventually, during what was probably the fifth or sixth night, I started to question if he thought about me at all.

Maybe the pain of being back in District 12, with the ghosts of his family and friends was too much. Maybe his new family, me, along with my mother, Prim, and Haymitch, wasn't enough. I know that Peeta loves me, but maybe it's not enough to trump those things.

Regardless of the way that mother and Prim have tried to assure me that they were certain he'd be on his way soon, I can't help but doubt them. So now, as I'm huddled here on the couch that doesn't seem as large and empty as the bed upstairs, I close my eyes tight at the thought that's currently plaguing my mind.

Maybe he isn't coming back.

* * *

When I answer the phone, I discover that I've never been more glad to hear Effie Trinket's voice. When she skips right passed the pleasantries, I realize that the woman on the other end of the line has grown to understand my ways, and how I work. The thought that the former District 12 escort has managed to weasel her way onto the short list of people that I actually care for is something that 16 year-old Katniss would have never expected.

"The phone lines here haven't been very reliable, otherwise I would have contacted you sooner, you see. There were several adjustments needed on the new prosthesis that the doctors originally overlooked. Then, of course, there were the therapy sessions," she informs me in her clear, concise voice as I nervously wrap the phone cord around and up my forearm. "But there's a train coming into 12 today, dear, and I think you should be at the station when it comes in. 3 'o clock."

She waits for the sound of my shaky exhale, insuring that I'm still here, before continuing.

"I suggest you wear something pretty, dear. It's going to be a big, big, big day!"

With that, she hangs up, and all I can do is stare at the receiver and smile.

* * *

I'm standing on the platform, half an hour early, in a dress that I talked myself out of wearing half a dozen times before remembering the way that he looked at me when I wore it last. I remember the way that his fingers had splayed across the bare skin of my back that night; just after he'd proposed and I dropped to my knees to kiss him. I can't wait to feel that touch again.

The minutes pass slowly, but I'll wait forever if I have to.

The train whistles in the distance and suddenly, I'm in the same place I was almost two years ago. There are no cameramen today, and the crowd is also missing, but I'm still here, shuffling nervously from foot to foot. My hands are shaking and no amount of deep breathing will be able to calm my heart rate.

I watch as the train slows to a stop, the sound of its air brakes making me jump a little. Obviously, the last time I waited for him here, the crowd had managed to drown the sound of them out. My muscles stay tensed until the hiss of the train car door opening causes me to take an eager step forward.

This time, there is no district escort to announce his arrival. As he comes into view, for a split second, I see the boy that returned home from the 74th Hunger Games. I see the dark circles underneath his eyes and the obvious signs of weight loss. I see the limp in his walk...

But then he smiles, a grin that stretches from one side of his face to the other, and when I blink, the boy is gone. The  _man_  descending from the stairs in front of me has the same smile, though.

My cheeks start to twitch, and I realize that I'm smiling, too. We, essentially, have all the time in the world now. This doesn't stop me from breaking into a sprint and throwing my body against his, however. My arms are around his shoulders and he lifts me from the ground. Unable to speak quite yet, I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck.

When I say that he smells like home, I do not mean that he smells like our house in the Victors' Village. He smells the way that he always has; warm and comforting and so familiar that my throat closes up when I think of how much I've missed it.

He pulls away, letting his forehead rest against mine for the briefest of moments before my mouth finds his. Our lips move against each other for an indeterminate amount of time, my hands cradling the sides of his face while his run through the length of my hair and on downward. When his fingers meet the flesh left exposed by the design of my dress, I feel the corners of his mouth lift into a smile.

We separate, only so that I can run my fingertips along the planes of his face. I watch as he closes his eyes, now rimmed in red and watery. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, and I lean forward to place a kiss on the side of his throat. I pull away, but remain in his arms and still close enough to feel his breath on my face.

Before I can stop myself, I say the first words that pop into my mind.

"I almost thought that you weren't going to come home."

An image of a girl in her mother's faded blue dress saying the exact same thing to a boy with a lopsided smile on his face comes to mind.

Peeta smirks and brings his hands up, resting one on each side of my face. I bite the inside of my cheek and try not to grin when I realize what's coming next. He closes the distance between our mouths once more and playfully pulls my lower lip between his teeth. A second later, his breath is hot on my ear and I can't figure out if it's my heart or his that I feel beating hard against my chest.

"Well, then you're a dummy."

* * *

The End.


End file.
